O  P  B  3SS8SSSSS3 


THE  VOICE  OF 
THE  STREET 

Ernest  Poole 


UNIVERSITY  MICROFILMS,  INC 
Ann  Arbor        London 


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The   Voice  of   the   Street. 


THE 

VOICE  OF  THE 
STREET 


by 
ERNEST   POOLE 


NEW   YORK 

A.   S.   BARNES   &   COMPANY 

1906 


LIBRARY  of  CONGRESS 

Two  Comes  Received 

JUN    2    1906 

Entry 

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CLAS?    U.  '  Xfc 

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COPYRIGHT,  1906 

HY 
A.  S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY 

Published,  May.  1906 


979 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  STREET  MOULDING  ITS  CHILDREN i 

II    THE   SONG   BEGINS. 6 

III  "WHAT  SORT  OF  A  GAME  is  THIS?" 14 

IV  TUB    SONG    OF     THE     CENTURY — SATURDAY 

NIGHT  IN  THE  CAFE  RIP  VAN  WINKLE.  . .    27 

V  A  GOOD  SOUND  TALK  ON  AMERICAN  BUSINESS    36 

VI    A  BEAUTIFUL  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES 49 

VII  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  RIP  VAN  WINKLE..     62 

VIII     LUCKY  JIM  is  BEWILDERED 69 

IX    Two  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER 80 

X  A    SHADOW   CREEPS   OVER   THE   DREAM    OF 

GRETCHEN  91 

XI    THE  STREET  REACHES  UP 100 

XII     "No  OTHER  WAY".... . 113 

XIII  "TiiE  GLAD  SURE  FEEL" 123 

XIV  THE  WONDERFUL  DREAMS  OF  Two 131 

XV    GRETCIIEN  FACES  THE  STREET 139 

XVI  A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE? 158 

XVII  THE  STREET  EDUCATES  GRETCHEN 183 

XVTI1  "ISN'T  THAT  WORTH  ANYTHING?" 196 

XIX  THE  NEXT  THREE  MONTHS 201 

XX  DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN 207 

XXI      "THIS  WILL  BE  THE   LAST" 226 

XXII    "You  WILL  NEVER  GIVE  UP— IF  You  LOVE 

ME"   231 

XXIII  "A  THIEF  LIKA  ME!  SHE  HATE  You" 243 

XXIV  "I  MYSELF  WILL  BE  NOTHING.    I  WILL  ONLY 

SING"    249 

XXV    A  BEAUTIFUL  SILVER  DOLLAR 259 

XXVI    "TuE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY" 267 

XXVII    "THE  SONG  MUST  BE  LIKE  WE  DREAMED"...  278 

XXVIII    THE  SONG 283 

V 


THE    ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  voice  of  the  street!  The  street  dazzling, 
roaring,  clashing,  straining — so  it  seems  to  the  two 
^  million  Italians  who  in  the  last  few  years  have 
poured  into  the  great  American  cities. 

Joseph  Stella  was  one.  Like  the  other  two  mil 
lion,  he  came  from  a  country  picturesque  and  sim 
ple  and  sunny  —  hills  covered  with  vineyards, 
dotted  with  villas,  old  churches  and  little  hamlets 
— places  where  Music  and  Art  rise  eternal  in  the 
souls  of  men. 

The  two  million  who  come  to  America  are 
promptly  nicknamed  "Dagoes,"  and  are  put  to 
work  in  ditches  and  sewers  and  tunnels  and  tene 
ment  sweatshops.  Not  long  ago  a  factory  inspec 
tor  found  a  young  Italian  mother  in  her  tenement 
room  in  New  York — late  at  night,  still  sewing  on 
coats  and  pants  for  the  sweatshop.  Her  two  wee 
children  worked  beside  her.  The  only  English 
words  she  knew  were  "Boss"  and  "Rent."  She 
had  been  thirty-six  hours  in  America! 

So  it  is  with  most  of  the  two  million. 

But  Stella  had  means.  And  when  he  came  to 
New  York  some  years  ago,  instead  of  going  into 


viii  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 

a  ditch  he  went  into  a  studio.  There  he  worked 
hard.  And  when  he  wasn't  at  his  easel  he  was 
wandering  about  the  New  York  streets  by  day  and 
by  night. 

Along  the  docks,  where  40,000  men  work  in 
gangs  of  400  to  a  ship.  Often  he  saw  400  work 
thirty  hours  at  a  stretch — without  sleep.  For  the 
ship  must  sail  on  time. 

In  the  sweatshops  and  factories  he  saw  the  same 
race — men,  women  and  children  straining  to  keep 
up  with  the  Machine! 

In  the  cafes  he  saw  the  same  race — Hungarian 
and  Italian  singers  straining  their  voices  to  get  en 
cores  from  the  gay,  hilarious  crowds  of  ^furraeekers. 
He  heard  the  old  Italian  songs  dropped  and  re 
placed  by  the  glorious  throb  of  Ragtime. 

Everywhere  the  Race  for  something. 

A  few  months  ago  Stella  met  a  young  Ameri 
can  who  had  been  watching  the  same  race  and  had 
put  it  into  a  novel — the  story  of  a  cafe  singer. 
"The  Voice  of  the  Street.'* 

The  street  was  racing  and  straining;  it  seemed 
to  suck  in  all  the  crowds  and  sweep  them  on;  with 
eyes  fixed  they  hurried  and  raced  as  they  had  raced 
the  mad  day  long.  The  street  was  fascinating. 
Lights  gleamed  from  a  thousand  windows,  from 
towers,  from  twentieth  stories,  from  sparkling 
signs  hung  high  in  blue  and  red  incandescents, 
from  pawnshops,  lunchrooms,  cafes  and  saloons, 
from  trolleys  and  street  stands,  from  trains  high 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  ix 

up  in  the  air  and  from  holes  that  led  into  the  sub 
way.  The  roar  was  glorious!  Nothing  tired  or 
sad  or  sentimental  here;  it  was  gay,  throbbing, 
jerking,  laughing,  vibrating  and  thrilling  with  life. 
Life  strung  high!  And  soaring  far  above  a  thou 
sand  boy  voices  sang,  "Extry!  Extry!  Extry!" 
All  about  graft,  train  smash-ups  and  strikes;  about 
weddings,  divorces  and  murders;  football,  prize 
fights  and  horseraces.  "Extry!  Extry!  Extry !" 
And,  as  fitting  music  to  it  all,  a  big  street  piano 
jerked  out  the  quick,  nervous  throbbing  of  rag 
time.  The  street  laughed  and  sparkled  and  swore, 
the  street  roared !  The  street  poured  into  the  ears 
of  ragged  twelve-year-old  Jim. 

And  the  street  came  flashing  out  again  from  his 
black,  dilated  eyes.  Only  from  his  eyes.  Under 
the  gray  slouch  hat,  pushed  far  back,  his  dark 
broad  face  was  set  and  grim,  his  strong  little  body 
was  huddled  and  rigid  in  loose  brown  rags,  as  he 
kneeled  on  one  knee  on  the  pavement,  staring  into 
the  ring.  Lucky  Jim  saw  only  the  dice. 

The  Italian,  reading,  listening,  watching — now 
expressed  it  all  in  these  pictures.  Pictures  of  feel 
ings.  They  are  unlike  anything  in  Italian  or  Ameri 
can  art.  Why?  Because  they  are  neither  Italian 
nor  American.  They  are  both.  In  them  you  can 
see  the  Italian  becoming  an  American,  struggling 
to  express  his  feelings  as  he  watches  this  new  wild 
race  of  American  life. 

Stella  is  one  of  two  million.    Other  millions  are 


x  THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 

coming  to  America.  These  millions  are  now  slowly 
rising,  just  as  the  German  and  Irish  immigrants 
slowly  rose  before  them.  As  some  of  them  leave 
the  ditches  and  sweatshops  for  music  schools  and 
art  studios — may  we  not  expect  some  wonderful 
gifts  to  our  American  life — its  pictures  and  its 
music?  Is  not  this  artistic  feeling  the  very  thing 
we  lack — and  should  we  not  give  to  these  Italians 
a  warm  and  hearty  welcome? 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  STREET  MOULDING  ITS  CHILDREN 

LUCKY  JIM  saw  only  the  dice. 
The  street  roared  into  his  ears.  Ele 
vated  trains  thundered  above  him,  the  sub 
way  rumbled  far  below,  trolleys  clanged,  wagons 
clattered,  drivers  swore  and  lashed.  The  street 
was  at  its  height:  It  was  six  o'clock,  the  rush  hour 
on  a  sparkling  autumn  night  in.  the  rush  center  of 
New  York.  Crowds  were  pouring  by  as  far  as  you 
could  sec.  Far  behind,  across  City  Hall  Park,  a 
black  human  tide  swept  under  the  blue  frosty  lights 
of  Broadway,  crowds  of  all  sizes  came  hurrying 
over  the  park;  on  the  left,  crowds  poured  in  from 
the  Ghetto  sweatshops;  on  the  right,  out  of  streets 
deep  as  canyons,  more  crowds  were  endlessly  rush 
ing.  Directly  before  him  they  surged  together, 
scrambled  up  elevated  stairs  and  poured  down  holes 
into  the  subway,  clung  to  the  platforms  of  trolleys 
and  elbowed  and  shoved  on  the  pavements;  while 
the  main  stream  rolled  straight  up  the  great  broad 
flights  of  iron  stairs,  up  into  the  Bridge  that  tow- 


2          THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

ered  and  swept  in  one  big  arch  to  Brooklyn.  The 
street  was  racing  and  straining;  it  seemed  to  suck  in 
all  the  crowds  and  sweep  them  on ;  with  eyes  fixed 
they  hurried  and  raced  as  they  had  raced  the  mad 
day  long.  The  street  was  fascinating.  Lights 
gleamed  from  a  thousand  windows,  from  towers, 
from  twentieth  stories,  from  sparkling  signs  hung 
high  in  blue  and  red  incandescents,  from  pawn 
shops,  lunch-rooms,  cafes  and  saloons,  from  trolleys 
and  street  stands,  from  trains  high  up  in  the  air  and 
from  holes  that  led  into  the  subway.  The  roar  was 
glorious!  Nothing  tired  or  sad  or  sentimental 
here;  it  was  gay,  throbbing,  jerking,  laughing,  vi 
brating  and  thrilling  with  life.  Life  strung  high! 
And  soaring  far  above  a  thousand  boy  voices  sang, 
"Extry!  Extry!  Extry!"  All  about  graft,  train 
smash-ups  and  strikes;  about  weddings,  divorces 
and  murders;  football,  prize-fights  and  horse  races. 
"Extry!  Extry!  Extry!"  And  as  fitting  music 
to  it  all,  a  big  street  piano  jerked  out  the  quick 
nervous  throbbing  of  rag-time.  The  street  laughed 
and  sparkled  and  swore,  the  street  roared!  The 
street  poured  into  the  ears  of  ragged  twelve-year- 
old  Jim. 

And  the  street  came  flashing  out  again  from  his 
black,  dilated  eyes.     Only  from  his  eyes.     Under 


MOULDING  ITS  CHILDREN         3 

the  gray  slouch  hat,  pushed  far  back,  his  dark 
broad  face  was  set  and  grim,  his  strong  little  body 
was  huddled  rigid  in  loose  brown  rags,  as  he 
kneeled  on  one  knee  on  the  pavement,  staring  into 
the  ring.  Lucky  Jim  saw  only  the  dice. 

He  felt  warm  and  glad  inside,  all  other  sounds 
seemed  far  away,  only  deep  inside  of  him  rose  like 
a  whisper: 

"Seven  or  eleven !  Seven  or  eleven  I"  He  threw, 
and  glared  at  the  dice. 

"Seven  I"  He  had  won,  and  he  swept  in  the 
pool,  and  breathed,  and  threw  a  quick  glance  round 
the  ring.  A  ring  of  loose  excited  faces,  smoking 
and  chewing  nervously,  laughing,  joking,  swearing 
at  the  dice;  he  saw  their  eyes  change  as  they  threw 
and  lost;  he  saw  them  jump  up  one  by  one  and  rush 
off  to  black  boots  or  sell  papers — the  old  slow 
stupid  way  to  make  money,  working  till  their  arms 
and  legs  ached.  No  aching  here,  just  quiet  watch 
ing,  feeling  the  luck  inside  grow  bigger  and  bigger 
till  he  wanted  to  yell,  but  he  just  held  his  breath 
.and  shivered  and  kept  quiet. 

"Seven  or  eleven  !"    Again  his  turn  was  coming. 

But  who  was  this  new  one  ?  Jim  had  never  seen 
him  before.  An  Italian  bootblack,  about  fifteen. 
He  had  big  round  shoulders,  a  shaggy  head,  a  fat 


4          THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

coarse  face — deep  lined,  and  heavy  eyes  set  'way 
in — dull  but  burning.  He  squatted  down  eating  a 
thick  cheese  sandwich  in  big  slow  bites  and  swal 
lows.  He  tfirew  and  lost  and  simply  went  on  eat 
ing.  He  emptied  all  his  cash  before  him;  Jim 
counted  with  hungry  eyes — eighty-three  cents. 
Jim's  own  pile  was  a  dollar  ninety-two,  and  the 
thing  inside  him  felt  ready  to  burst.  The  others 
— beaten,  penniless  and  hungry,  dropped  out  one 
by  one — till  the  only  one  left  was  the  bootblack. 

He  looked  up  and  asked  Jim  to  double. 

Four  cents  in  the  pool.  Jim  threw  and  won,  and 
carelessly  swept  it  in. 

The  bootblack  swallowed  the  last  big  bite  of  his 
sandwich  and  asked  Jim  to  double. 

"The  fool!"  Eight  cents  in  the  pool.  The 
Italian  threw  and  lost.  Jim  threw — and  lost;  the 
other  threw  and  lost.  Jim  threw — and  won! 

The  bootblack  asked  him  to  double.  Sixteen 
cents.  Jim  threw  impatiently — and  won !  The 
bootblack  asked  him  to  double.  Thirty-two  cents! 

The  Italian  threw  and  won !  And  then  with  a 
furious  sweep  of  his  thick  ragged  arm  he  gathered 
in  the  pool,  and  his  big  greenish  eyes  sneered  into 
Jim's — strong,  hard,  hot,'  and  he  asked  Jim  to 
double. 


MOULDING  ITS  CHILDREN          5 

"Aw,  I'm  not  afraid  1"  cried  Jim.  He  f.lt  the 
crowd  bending  eagerly  over,  he  heard  the  roar  of 
the  street  'way  off,  he  glared  and  swore  at  the  boot 
black. 

The  bootblack  threw  and  won ! 

Jim  leaped  up  and  asked  him  to  double.  A  dol 
lar  twenty-eight!  The  Italian  bent  closer. 

Jim's  fists  clinched,  he  grew  cold  as  ice,  he  grab 
bed  the  box  and  shook  it  as  though  his  life  were  in 
it,  the  luck  inside  him  leaped  up  big  and  swelling, 
he  grew  hot  and  quivered  all  over  and  threw — and 
won !  And  swept  in  all  the  money  and  sneered  at 
the  bootblack. 

The  whole  crowd  jeered  as  the  bootblack  slowly 
rose.  His  face  was  stolid.  Only — on  his  low,  wide 
forehead,  a  few  bright  beads  of  sweat  stood  out. 
Jim  watched  him  critically.  And  then  a  lump 
swelled  up  in  Jim's  throat.  For  the  Italian 
grinned,  tipped  back  his  hat,  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  sauntered  away.  But  he  left  his  box 
of  brushes.  Jim  snatched  them  up  and  followed, 
watching  the  bootblack's  head  bend  down,  bumping 
blindly  into  people.  And  in  little  Jim's  throat  the 
lump  got  bigger  and  bigger. 

"Gee !  But  the  Dago  had  nerve !"  he  was  think 
ing. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  SONG  BEGINS 

ONLY  an  hour  later.  But  already  into  Jim's 
life  there  had  come  a  deep,  mysterious 
change. 

The  street  seemed  down  in  another  world.  His 
old  gray  hat  lay  on  his  knees,  he  had  one  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  the  bootblack,  and  he  leaned  'way 
forward,  staring  down  a  steep  crowded  theatre 
gallery. 

Far  below  in  the  darkness  was  a  soft  light  place 
of  stars  and  trees  and  bushes  and  flowers;  on  one 
side  was  a  gray-stone  balcony  covered  with  roses, 
a  beautiful  lady  leaned  out,  and  below  stood  a  man 
in  a  queer  bright  dress,  who  was  looking  up  and 
singing. 

Jim  had  never  dreamed  of  a  song  like  this.  He 
thrilled  all  up  and  down  his  spine,  his  legs  and  arms 
tingled,  and  a  delicious  numbness  stole  over  his 
mind;  he  could  only  stare  and  feel;  he  remembered 
nothing. 

How  he  had  taken  the  bootblack  off  to  a  fine, 


THE  SONG  BEGINS  7 

warm  supper;  how  the  little  Italian  had  told  of  the 
wonderful  music  in  this  big  show  where  his  uncle 
sang  in  the  chorus — all  this  was  a  dream ;  the  whole 
world  was  a  dream,  and  only  the  song  was  real. 

No  one  else  in  the  world  had  ever  sung  like  this  1 
The  voice  simply  poured  up,  smooth  and  deep  and 
rich  as  an  organ;  so  unlike  all  the  voices  in  shows 
on  the  Bowery;  it  came  not  just  from  the  throat, 
but  from  'way  down  in  the  man,  and  sometimes  it 
made  all  the  air  just  shake  with  feeling. 

The  feeling,  too,  was  wonderful  and  new,  noth 
ing  at  all  like  any  feeling  Jim  had  ever  felt  on  the 
street;  there  was  no  fight  in  it,  no  lies,  no  games,  no 
race  for  nickels  and  dimes;  vaguely  he  knew  it  was 
the  feeling  his  chums  all  sneered  at.  The  man 
wanted  the  lady.  He  wanted  her  harder  and 
harder.  The  song  rose  and  shook  till  Jim  himself 
shook  inside. 

Now  the  lady  was  singing  back,  and  in  a  moment 
Jim  could  feel  that  everything  in  the  world  was 
glad  and  quiet  and  true;  there  was  no  chance  of 
losing  anything,  no  fear,  no  suspense,  no  gamble; 
everything  in  the  world  was  sure;  and  this  would 
keep  on  forever.  The  trees  and  the  bushes  and 
flowers  and  clouds  all  seemed  small  beside  it.  No 
woman  in  the  world  had  ever  felt  this  way  before  I 


8          THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Suddenly  in  the  darkness  the  two  little  raga 
muffins  turned  and  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes, 
gazed  and  gazed,  and  neither  of  them  even  noticed 
the  shameful  fact  that  the  other  one's  eyes  .were 
glistening. 

A  tremendous  idea  leaped  up  in  Jim's  mind,  a 
plan  for  his  whole  life  ahead!  One  long,  bewild 
ered,  radiant  stare.  He  squeezed  the  Italian's  fat 
arm  and  turned  quickly  back,  to  hear  the  most  won 
derful  thing  of  all,  the  richest  thing.  The  two 
voices  were  singing  two  tunes,  and  each  tune  was 
helping  the  other. 


At  midnight,  as  they  hurried  downtown  together, 
Jim  spoke  in  short  excited  sentences  of  his  plan 
and  the  place  for  which  they  were  heading.  They 
reached  it  at  last,  a  shabby  little  building  'way  down 
near  the  East  River  docks,  squeezed  m-between  two 
black  silent  factory  buildings.  A  low  two-story 
house,  a  saloon  below  and  a  clubroom  above;  this 
room  was  rented  for  four  dollars  a  month  by  Jim's 
street  gang,  and  in  it  was  an  old  piano. 

They  were  too  late.  The  saloon  was  dark  and 
silent;  doors  and  windows  all  were  locked. 

The  bootblack  looked  at  Jim.     For  a  moment 


THE  SONG  BEGINS  9 

he  hesitated.  Then  he  jerked  from  his  trousers' 
back-pocket  a  sinister-looking  tool,  at  sight  of 
which  Jim  started,  for  he  had  seen  tools  like  it 
before.  The  Italian  watched  him,,  in  growing  sus 
pense.  A  brief  struggle  and  then  Jim  grinned ;  the 
Italian  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  went  to  the  side 
door  and  got  to  work  on  the  lock,  while  Jim  looked 
up  and  down  the  street  for  "cops,"  and  shivered 
with  excitement.  A  minute  later  the  door  swung 
open  and  they  ran  up  into  the  clubroom. 

It  was  still  warm  from  the  heat  of  the  bar-room 
below,  but  bare  and  comfortless;  the  big,  gay,  ex 
citing  pictures  on  the  walls  were  lost  in  shaddws. 
But  through  the  two  grimy  windows  the  hard  blu 
ish  glare  of  the  street  arc  light  streamed  in,  throw 
ing  into  bold  relief  the  piano  and  the  burly  little 
Italian  bending  over  the  keys. 

In  a  moment  the  old  instrument  woke  up,  uncer 
tainly — as  though  dazed  and~embarrassed. — Slowly 
the  notes  flowed  together  into  a  rude  grotesque 
ghost  of  the  great  Faust  love  song. 

And  then,  eagerly,  tenderly,  very  humbly,  Lucky 
Jim  began  to  sing. 

The  Italian  turned  his  shaggy  head  and  listened 
in  amazement. 

The  minutes  flowed  on  into  hours  as  they  slowly 


io        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

remembered  the  wonderful  songs  of  the  show.  The 
big  dirty  hands  crept  over  the  keys,  making  music 
coarse  and  clumsy,  but  somehow  almost  always  in 
tune;  and  when  the  hands  did  strike  it  wrong,  they 
shrank  back  quickly,  and  so  went  on,  feeling  their 
way. 

And  Jim  sang  softly — with  eyes  shining  into 

the  darkness. 

************ 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  they  had  carefully  fixed 
the  lock  of  the  door.    Jim  turned  : 
"What's  your  name?" 

"Joe."  ; 

"Mine's  Jim." 

Jim  drew  a  long  shaking  breath. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that's  what  we'll  do.  We'll 
never  stop  till  we  die." 

The  bootblack  drew  close — his  big  eyes  gleam 
ing. 

"You  sing — I  play!"  he  whispered.  "De  biggest 
songs  in  de  world — all — all !  We  never  stop  till 
we  die !  You  sing — I  play  1" 

They  stared  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"So  long,  Joe — till  to-morrow  night." 

"So  long,  Jim." 

Jim  wandered  down  the  street.    As  he  walked, 


THE  SONG  BEGINS  n 

his  face  changed  and  grew  pinched  with  faintness. 
As  before  it  had  reflected  all  the  gay  fascination 
of  the  street's  rush  hour,  so  now  it  imaged  the 
street's  hour  of  death. 

The  Bowery  was  empty  and  cold  and  gray.  The 
faces  had  .all  passed  on — to  the  goals  of  their  rac 
ing.  Only  here  and  there  a  few  drunken  sailors 
reeled  along;  ragged  old  bums  sat  dozing  on  lodg 
ing-house  steps;  a  woman,  haggard  and  hungry- 
eyed,  stood  watching  by  the  entrance  to  a  peep- 
show  arcade — under  the  glaring  show  poster:  "II- 
lusions  for  One  Cent."  Only  the  pawn-shop  win 
dows  were  still  bright  and  gay.  The  roar  and  the 
race  for  something  had  almost  stopped.  Not  quite. 
An  occasional  train  thundered  above,  a  trolley 
flashed  by,  and  down  in  Park  Row  he  met  the  first 
newspaper  wagon  coming  up  on  the  gallop  with  the 
dawn  edition,  the  news  of  the  race  and  the  roar,  to 
be  served  red-hot  to  the  early  birds  who  were 
already  rising  to  the  fight.  Further  down,  in  the 
old  place  by  Brooklyn  Bridge,  a  few  late  workers 
were  hurrying  home,  exhausted.  And  over  by 
Wall  Street  the  tall  silent  buildings  loomed  black 
and  mysterious — waiting. 

But  Jim  saw  nothing. 

He  turned  down  a  dark  lane  off  Newspaper  Row, 


1 2        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

found  his  old  warm  grating,  stepped  carefully  over 
a  dozen  ragged  little  sleepers,  and  lay  down  near 
the  wall.  A  few  restless  changes  of  position,  he 
pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  drew  his  belt  in 
tighter,  and  was  quiet.  The  glare  of  the  light  in 
the  street  showed  only  his  little  white  jaw  and 
slightly  quivering  nostrils.  Deep  exhausted  breath 
ing. 

Up  he  drifted  into  the  soft  delicious  darkness  of 
sleep. 

At  last  it  grew  brighter — in  a  dream.  And  Jim 
thrilled.  Fn^.i  somewhere  far  behind  him  came 
the  low  sweet  tones  of  a  woman's  voice,  singing. 
The  notes  swelled,  at  first  serene  and  tender,  then 
deeper,  nearer.  Already  Jim  knew  that  song  of 
love  by  heart,  he  knew  the  wonderful  parts  that 
were  coming,  and  he  tried  to  raise  his  head,  but  he 
could  not  move,  though  he  knew  not  why. 

The  song  swelled  into  deep  passionate  yearning, 
a  rosy  light  stole  from  the  darkness  around  him, 
and  now  he  saw  he  was  crouching  over  the  dice. 
His  chums  crouched  close  around,  he  could  hear 
their  fierce  whispers. 

"Seven  or  eleven !  Seven  or  eleven !  Seven  or 
eleven  !n  And  the  voice  thrilled  close  behind  him, 
deeper  it  swelled,  and  now  there  was  nothing  sad,  it 


THE  SONG  BEGINS  13 

was  grand,  uplifting,  glorious!  Little  shivers 
raced  up  and  down  his  spine,  a  lump  rose  again  in 
his  throat,  he  wanted  to  leap  up  and  sing.  But  still 
his  eyes  were  held  down. 

"Seven  or  eleven !"  He  shook  the  old  dice  box 
and  threw;  one  eager  look.  He  had  won!  He 
could  go. 

But  no.  The  endless  game  went  on — over  and 
over,  winning,  losing,  winning. 

And  the  song  was  drifting  away.  Slowly  that 
wonderful  light  died  out.  But  still  he  could  see 
the  dice,  still  his  eyes  were  fastened. 

One  last  desperate  struggle.    Then  darkness. 


CHAPTER  III 
"WHAT  SORT  OF  A  GAME  is  THIS?" 

TWO  years  had  gone  by. 
Saturday  night  was  beginning,  and  the 
long  low  Bowery  bar-room  was  packed 
with  jostling  forms;  big  banging  fists;  thick  clouds 
of  smoke  and  coarse  red  jovial  faces;  the  deep 
harsh  hum  of  voices  rose  now  into  oaths  or  again 
into  bursts  of  laughter. 

All  suddenly  stopped.  And  one  by  one  the  faces 
turned  to  a  corner  in  the  rear — to  a  battered  piano. 

Over  the  yellow  keys  bent  Dago  Joe — larger, 
more  thick-set,  but  foul  and  shaggy  as  before.  And 
beside  him,  ready  to  sing,  stood  Lucky  Jim;  a  little 
taller  now  and  thinner,  but  on  his  broad  dark  face 
was  the  same  strained  eager  look — etched  deeper 
in.  His  black  twinkling  eyes  roved  over  the  faces; 
his  hands,  as  he  leaned  slightly  forward,  were 
clinched  tight  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat. 

He  began  to  sing.  He  felt  the  warm  blood  come 
leaping  up  through  his  veins,  ind  his  fresh  crude 


"WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"          15 

soprano  voice  leaped,  too;  leaped  and  shook  and 
thrilled  with  the  joy  of  being  young,  with  the  glori 
ous  passion  of  the  music. 

But  the  words.  Never  had  the  great  Faust  love 
song  been  so  interpreted : 

"I  know — a  girl  who  is — a — wait — in', 
Her  face — is  white,  her  lips — is — shak — in*; 
She  knows — that  her  George  is  off — a — drink — in*. 
I  am — and  while  I  drink,  my  heart — is — sink — in'. 

I  grab  the  bar  tight ! 

I  feel  I — must — fight ! 

This  curse  inside  me! 

Where  can  I  hide  me  ? 

I  go  on  drink — in', 

My  heart  is  sink — in', 

I  go  on  dream — in', 

My  eyes  is  stream — in'. 

With  a  big  sad  sob — I  shout! 

I'm  down — down  an1 — out !" 

The  room  rang  with  delighted  applause. 

And  as  Jim  went  about  with  his  hat,  pennies  and 
nickels  came  jingling  in;  again  and  again  he  was 
heartily  clapped  on  the  shoulder,  for  in  these  first 
two  years  of  the  life  he  and  Joe  had  planned  they 


16        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

had  come  to  be  known  and  liked  all  up  and  down 
the  Bowery. 

But  now,  to  all  the  kindly  grins  and  words  of 
praise,  Jim  replied  only  with  a  gay  nervous  smile. 
He  Avas  still  tingling,  warm,  thrilling  and  shaking 
from  the  music. 

His  smile  faded  into  a  curious  stare. 

Over  at  a  table  in  a  corner  sat  a  queer  old  Ger 
man.  Jim  had  never  seen  him  before.  His  black 
felt  hat  was  pushed  far  back  from  his  high  reced 
ing  forehead;  his  white  hair  stood  out  soft  and 
bushy  round  his  face,  which  was  smooth-shaven  and 
square,  with  big  cheek-bones.  He  had  a  wide  mouth 
and  thin  delicate  lips,  with  a  humorous  droop  to 
the  corners,  lips  now  comfortably  set  around  the 
stem  of  a  long  straight  black-briar  pipe.  The  lips 
opened  lazily  and  soft,  white  wreaths  floated  up, 
and  through  the  wreaths  two  deep-set  kindly  blue 
eyes  twinkled  at  Jim. 

He  beckoned  Jim  to  come  over,  and  pointed  to  a 
fiddle-box  on  a  chair. 

"In  de  same  beesness  as  you,"  he  remarked, 
watching  Jim's  half-suspicious  eyes.  "Und  mein 
name  ees  Fritz  Bernstene.  Hello!"  he  cried, 
bobbing  around.  "Kellner!  Two  glasses  of  beer 
— for  me  und  mein  freund." 


"WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"          17 

With  a  quick  pleased  smile  Jim  slid  into  the 
opposite  chair.  Old  Fritz  drew  a  deep  comfort 
able  breath. 

"Veil,"  he  began,  "your  song  ees  goot — fine — 
immense — in  places.  It  seems  to  me  I  hear  before 
already.  Vot  ees  it?  Vere  you  get  it?" 

He  lit  his  pipe,  as  Jim  told  briefly  of  the  night 
long  ago  at  the  wonderful  big  show.  The  old  man 
grunted : 

"So!"  His  little  eyes  twinkled  in  the  blaze. 
"How  you  make  dose  words?" 

Jim's  broad  face  suddenly  darkened. 

"I  know  what  you're  thinking,"  he  began  slowly, 
in  low  uneasy  tones.  "You  ain't  like  these  other 
fellers — are  you? — you  know  what's  good  in  music 
— so  you're  thinking  the  words  is  bad.  Well — I 
know  they  are.  The  song  is  glad  an'  the  words 

ought  to  be  glad,  like  the  song.  But "  he 

swallowed  hard  and  looked  up  with  a  guilty  smile. 
"Well — you  see,  me  an'  the  Dago — we  made  a 
plan — jest  to— sing  big  glad  music — always.  So 
I  quit  sellin'  papers  an'  he  quit  blackin'  boots  an'  we 
got  singin'.  But  they  didn't  want  us  at  the  opera 
when  we  asked  at  the  ticket-window — an'  the  only 
place  we  could  sing  in  was  joints  like  this.  I  didn't 
have  any  words  for  the  song,  an'  some  feller  made 


1 8        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  S  TREE  T 

these  words — an' — I  tore  'em  up !  But — the  crowd 
got  'round  me  an'  made  me  try  'em,  an' — the  crowd 
liked  'em  an' — the  crowd  gave  us  money — an' — 
so  now  it  ain't — it  ain't  much  like  the  song  in  the 
big  show — is  it? — I  know  that — it's  got  dirt — 
slush — soft  slush  all  over  it!" 

Jim  stopped  short,  his  hands  nervously  working 
on  the  table,  his  face  very  red,  and  his  eyes  looking 
down. 

Old  Fritz  bent  'way  forward: 

"You  are  right!  Dose  words — dey  haf  no  big 
beauties.  Mein  freund — you  sing  too  goot  to  sing 
dose  words.  You  must  haf  quick  anudder  song!" 

"Well?"  Jim  looked  up  quickly.  "Where  can 
I  get  it?" 

The  old  man  emptied  his  glass. 

"You  come  along  mit  me  1" 

He  half  rose,  but  again  he  saw  that  quick  look 
of  suspicion  in  Jim's  big  eyes.  He  sank  down  and 
shook  his  head. 

"Yes — you  haf  a  splendid  voice,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "Und  dot  song  vould  suit  you  goot.  A 
song  mit  words  all  fine  und  true — so  true;  und 
shoost  in  dc  middle  ees  a  high  place  vere  your  voice 
goes  up  in  jumps — up — up — up  !  Till  you  grab 
dot  high  note  und  make  it  shake !  Und  you  could 


"WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"          19 

do  it,  too!    Veil,  now  I  haf  no  time.    Maybe  I  see 
you  again." 

He  turned  and  seemed  listening  to  a  jovial 
group  at  the  bar. 

"Say !"  Jim  bent  over  the  table  and  touched  his 
arm.  "How  far  is  it  to  your  place?" 

Fritz  glanced  down  as  though  undecided. 

"Oh,  show  a  feller!" 

"Goot!" 

They  rose  quickly  and  left  the  bar-room. 

Out  in  the  white  frosty  night  the  old  man 
breathed  deep  till  his  big  cheeks  grew  ruddy;  he 
bent  his  head  to  the  wind,  hugged  his  fiddle  and 
hurried  on. 

"What's  in  it  for  the  old  one?"  Jim  was  think 
ing. 

Suddenly  he  stopped;  Fritz  turned  and  they 
stared  at  each  other  a  moment.  Not  a  word  was 
said,  but  slowly  the  old  eyes  triumphed.  The  old 
hand  went  up  on  Jim's  shoulder. 

But  at  its  touch  Jim  shook  it  off  and  ran  away. 

Old  Fritz  walked  slowly  on  down  the  street. 

Back  in  the  shadows  Jim  followed.  He  saw  the 
old  German  walk  faster  and  at  last  turn-sharply 
into  a  dark  tenement  entry.  A  moment  later  Jim 
slipped  cautiously  in  behind  and  tip-toed  upstairs. 


20        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

He  heard  old  Bernstene  stop  and  whistle  a  bold 
clear  little  tune — (a  motif  from  Die  Walkiire)  — 
that  sounded  like  a  question.  Fritz  listened  for  an 
answer,  but  none  came;  he  climbed  to  the  third 
landing  and  tried  the  door;  it  was  locked,  and  he 
wearily  fumbled  for  his  key. 

But  as  Fritz  entered  the  pitch-dark  room  he  gave 
a  startled  grunt. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  open  your  eyes  1"  cried  a  low 
sweet  excited  voice.  Jim  saw  two  small  hands 
grab  the  old  shoulders,  and  old  Fritz  was  hustled, 
still  grunting,  back  into  the  lighted  bedroom.  The 
bedroom  door  was  shut  and  locked. 

44 What  sort  of  a  game  is  this?"  thought  Jim,  and 
he  stared  excitedly  in  from  the  entry. 

He  saw  a  small  white  form  move  quickly  about 
in  the  dull  red  glow  from  a  little  coal  fire;  he  heard 
rippling  chuckles,  and  then  a  match  blazed  round 
a  yellow  head,  a  demure  little  face,  laughing 
twitching  red  lips  and  very  large  steady  blue  eyes. 
Jim  drew  back  in  disgust. 

4tOnly  a  girl!"  he  whispered. 

The  girl  was  about  his  own  age.  She  was  light 
ing  a  lamp  in  the  corner  farthest  from  the  door, 
and  as  the  soft  light  poured  out  she  carefully  placed 
over  it  a  big  pale  blue  shade  which  made  it  even 


"WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"          21 

softer.  The  whole  room  was  quiet  and  warm.  The 
walls  were  just  plain  gray,  with  two  windows  cur 
tained  in  dull  faded  red;  in  one  corner  was  a  baby- 
grand  piano  with  piles  of  music  on  top;  a  huge 
deep  leather  chair  stood  facing  the  fire,  with  an 
enormous  old  pair  of  slippers  in  front,  and  close  by 
the  arm  a  small  low  table  already  set  with  a  snowy 
cloth  and  two  empty  plates;  cold  meat,  thin  crisp 
pieces  of  toast  peeping  from  under  a  napkin,  a  yel 
low  pat  of  butter,  apple  sauce,  a  smoking  bowl  of 
Something,  a  huge  delicious  frankfurter  sausage 
and  an  old  black  tea-pot  humming. 

No\y  she  herself  was  humming  like  an  idiot,  and 
taking,  over  her  shoulder,  a  last  anxious  look  at 
her  dress. 

The  dress  was  evidently  new,  but  of  the  queerest 
style — dark-blue  stuff  hanging  in  straight  folds 
from  her  waist;  and  folded  criss-cross  over  her 
bosom  was  a  big  soft  white  cloth;  her  neck  was 
quite  bare,  and  her  smooth  hair  was  braided  in  one 
big  German  ring  round  her  head. 

Still  humming,  she  skipped  to  the  bedroom  door, 
and  out  marched  the  old  German. 

His  face  was  lined  with  cross  wrinkles  and  at 
every  step  he  grunted. 

But  suddenly  turning  he.  swept  the  girl  with  him 


12        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

into  the  deep  old  chair,  and  for  a  moment  Jim 
heard  nothing  but  a  lot  of  laughs  and  mumbles  and 
— kisses  1 

Jim  drew  a  deep  breath  of  disappointment;  for 
the  Dutchman  had  seemed  such  a  manly  square  old 
fellow. 

The  girl  was  standing  up  now  between  the  chair 
and  the  fire,  turning  slowly  around,  while  old  Fritz 
examined  her  dress.  Her  head  kept  twisting  anx 
iously. 

"Daddy,  don't  you  like  it?'1 

No  response. 

"Daddy,  I  made  it  myself!  Don't  you  dare  not 
to  say  something  1" 

She  turned  sharply  and  saw  the  old  man's  ador 
ing  eyes;  she  bent  and  seized  his  face  in  both  her 
hands  and  gazed — hungrily;  and  then  with  a  little 
cry  of  delight  she  hugged  him;  and  again  they 
went  into  the  chair. 

At  last  Jim  heard  the  old  German's  voice — 
muffled,  trembling  and  very  low. 

"Shoost  like  I  dreamed  you  vould  look — shoost 
so  vas  her  dress  ven  she  vas  so  little  as  you.  Veil," 
the  voice  grew  quiet  and  confident  as  though  stat 
ing  indisputable  facts,  "you  haf  been  kind  all  day. 
No  bad  music — no  cry-baby  eyes — no  lazy  work." 


'WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"         23 

For  answer,  a  small  hand  shot  out  to  a  straw 
chair  and  pulled  in  a  pile  of  embroidery. 

"Ach!  Gretchen!  Vot  a  beauty  1  Veil!  All 
by  yourself?  Und  your  mistress,  Fraulein  Louisa, 
she  likes  it  much  ?  Und  you  please  all  peoples  in 
de  great  house — und — und  so  you  grow  vun  day 
older."  The  voice  sank  'way  down.  uSo  soon — 
mein  baby — grows — like  vun  of  Gott's  beauty  flow 
ers.  So  soon — so  soon." 

Another  Jong  silence.  At  last  the  two  heads 
came  up  again  and  supper  began.  As  the  delicious 
odors  of  tea  and  toast  and  sausage  stole  over  the 
room,  Jim  kept  shifting  from  one  foot  to  another, 
staring  through  the  half-opened  door. 

Slowly  in  his  dark  tired  eyes  would  appear  a 
strange  new  look  that  grew  and  grew  till  the  soul 
of  Lucky  Jim  seemed  looking  straight  out,  dazed, 
hungry  and  wondering.  But  then  in  a  flash 
the  street's  old  cynical  smile  would  come  back; 
it  came  more  and  more  as  Jim  grew  wearier; 
he  smiled  when  she  lit  the  old  man's  pipe 
after  supper;  and  when  she  sat  down  at  the 
piano,  playing  a  soft  old  song — then  Jim  posi 
tively  snorted.  The  little  idiot  was  playing  ten 
times  too  slow. 

Fritz  heard  and  threw  a  startled  glance  at  the 


24        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  S  TREET 

door  and  saw,  but  looked  back  before  Jim  noticed 
him. 

For  a  long  time  his  blue  eyes  stared  into  the 
coals.  Then  he  rose  and  took  out  his  fiddle. 

"Ve  play  anudder  song  to-night,"  he  said  to 
Gretchen.  "Vun  you  know  so  veil.*' 

Tenderly  he  tucked  the  old  fiddle  under  his  chin, 
and  his  cheek  went  Vay  down,  his  face  grew  quiet 
and  peaceful,  and  his  eyes  closed  as  though  shutting 
out  every  evil  thing  in  the  world  and  seeing 
another  world  of  radiant  ubig  beauties;"  he  bent 
slightly  forward  smiling  and  his  white  head  nestled 
closer. 

"He  knows  how  it  feels,"  thought  Jim.  "He 
knows  just  how  it  feels !" 

So  he  did.  The  melody  stole  out  from  under 
the  curly  bent  head;  it  rose  serenely,  telling  the 
whole  simple  story  in  one  phrase,  and  yet  making 
you  close  your  eyes  to  listen,  for  you  knew  that  more 
was  coming.  Again  it  rose,  but  wandering  now  by 
different  paths,  and  again  straying  back,  softer  and 
softer — and  pausing;  and  again  beginning,  but  now 
slowly  filling  with  sorrow,  despairing,  very  humble 
— then  suddenly  swelling  and  leaping!  But  this 
was  quickly  hushed,  the  agony  slipped  away,  and 
the  same  old  melody  rose  softer,  more  humble  and 


•  -  r-r".*-  •--,  ,/<• 

.-'/*?  . 


O 


•* 


./?  :  «>'        ^ 

'     s  . 


'The   swept,   crude   voice   of   Lucky  Jim   crept   on   softly   and 
uncertain — following   the   fiddle." 


"WHAT  GAME  IS   THIS?"          25 

more  serene — drifting  slowly  up  and  up  and  float 
ing  away  into  infinite  peace. 

The  little  room  was  solemn  and  hushed.  Old 
Fritz  still  bent  his  head  until  he  felt  Gretchen 
clutch  his  arm. 

And  then  he  saw  Jim  standing  directly  before 
him,  motionless,  looking  up. 

Old  Fritz  smiled. 

"Dot  ees  your  song,"  he  whispered. 

Jim  thrilled  with  a  joy  that  was  strange  and  yet 
felt  so  safe  and  sure.  He  felt  his  throat  thicken,  he 
swallowed  hard  and  his  eyes  winked  desperately. 

Fritz  saw  this  and  turned,  and  in  a  moment  he 
was  talking  cheerily.  He  made  Jim  eat  some  supper 
while  Gretchen  made  more  tea.  Slowly  Jim  felt 
the  shivers  and  shakes  die  away,  and  he  began  to 
feel  quiet  as  the  room  around  him. 

When  Fritz  saw  this,  they  went  to  the  piano,  and 
while  Gretchen  played,  the  sweet  crude  voice  of 
Lucky  Jim  crept  on  softly  and  uncertain — follow 
ing  the  fiddle. 

They  finished  and  began  a  second  time,  and  then 
a  third,  till  the  voice  rose  loud  and  free,  swelling 
and  leaping  and  dying !  And  now  the  melody  had 
changed,  the  serenity  was  all  lost,  the  song  spoke 
only  bursts  of  yearning.  Faster,  hungrier,  wilder! 


26        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Gretchen's  face  kept  turning  from  the  keys;  her 
blue  eyes  were  startled,  confused,  fascinated — 
growing  larger  and  rounder.  Her  hands  fumbled, 
her  accompaniment  dragged. 

Jim  glanced  down  at  her  fiercely.  Faster, 
wilder  I  The  song  of  the  life  of  Lucky  Jim !  The 
voice  of  the  street! 

And  when  the  song  was  finished,  the  old  Ger 
man's  head  was  still  bent  down,  and  his  eyes  were 
glistening. 

"Some  day  you  vill  go  up — up — vay  up!"  he 
whispered. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  CENTURY — SATURDAY   NIGHT 
IN  THE  CAFE  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

WHEN  Jim  left  old  Fritz  that  night  he  felt 
his  whole  life  beginning  anew;  he  saw 
a  long  succession  of  lessons  and  won 
derful  songs  in  the  lamp-lit  room ;  he  heard  his  own 
voice  far  inside  of  his  head  grow  swiftly  deeper 
and  richer,  until  in  just  a  few  minutes  of  hard  work 
and  lessons  the  voice  was  resonant,  vibrating  and 
lifting,  like  the  voice  of  the  man  in  the  big  show. 
He  heard  a  rising  flutter  and  tumult,  and  then  a 
roar  of  applause;  the  whole  world  listened  while 
he  sang!  Deep  feelings  burst  up  within  him  and 
drowned  it  all ! 

And  Jim  was  walking  alone  through  a  dark  cold 
tenement  street  in  the  Ghetto. 
"You  vill  go  up — up — vay  up!" 
The??  words  still  rang  in  his  ears;  he  walked  on 
faster  and  took  deep  breaths. 
1  work?    WilllV- 
17 


28        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

« 

He  laughed  excitedly. 

"Will  I  ?    Gee !    But  isn't  he  a  wonder !" 

Every  suspicion  was  swept  away;  the  simple  old 
German  had  suddenly  become  a  marvel  of  human 
perfection,  of  goodness  and  wisdom  and  genius  and 
love. 

But  then  came  the  drop. 

Fritz  gave  Jim  long  hard  lessons  with  no  songs 
at  all  but  only  new  queer  ways  of  breathing,  new 
ways  of  holding  his  tongue  and  of  lifting  the  small 
red  thing  in  his  throat — until  Jim  wondered  if  it 
were  really  his  own  mouth  that  was  singing. 

All  this  Jim  did  eagerly,  glaring  into  his  mouth 
in  the  mirror  and  trying  and  laughing  and  trying 
again. 

Next  Fritz  told  Jim  he  must  give  up  his  night 
singing  with  Joe,  and  get  a  steady  common  day 
time  job  at  work  in  the  open  air. 

Even  then  Jim  obeyed,  and  hunted  and  found  a 
job,  and  did  the  deadly  tiresome  work  for  a  week. 

But  then  the  old  street  reached  up. 

"Say!"  growled  Dago  Joe,  with  fists  clenched 
and  dull  eyes  gleaming.  "Do  I  wanta  stoppa  you 
from  de  big  glad  song?  Do  I?  Don't  I  wanta 
you  go  up  in  de  big  show  some  day?  Don't  I  wanta 
to  go  up  myself?  Ain't  we  been  plannin'  how  we 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CENTURY      29 

be  two  bigga  glad  men — always  togedder — you 
sing — I  play?" 

Never  before  had  silent  Joe  spoken  so  long  at  a 
time,  his  broad  jaw  set  hard,  and  he  drew  closer. 

"Well — you  try  droppa  me — you  try !" 

And  as  Jim's  black  eyes  flashed  back  undaunted, 
Joe  added  with  almost  a  sob : 

"I  lika  you  so  bad  that — when  I  killa  you,"  he 
jerked  out  his  knife  and  clutched  it  to  his  ragged 
breast,  "den  I  quick  killa  my  ownself  too!  You 
try!" 

Then  came  the  gay  shrewd  leader  of  Jim's  old 
newsboy  gang — "the  Skinner,"  who  was  now  seven 
teen  and  a  messenger  on  Wall  Street. 

"You— poor — fool!"  he  sneered.  "So  de  old 
Dutch  has  you  at  last.  Coin1  to  be  papa's  boy,  trot- 
tin*  patient  to  his  daily  toil — saved  from  de  booze 
— picked  from  de  fire — marry  de  girl — save  an* 
scrape  an*  trot  de  baby — grow  old  in  de  same  pair 
of  pants — an'  at  de  age  of  eighty  buy  a  sweet  little 
house  an'  lot — 'De  Bride's  Dream' — on  install 
ments — in  Hoboken!" 

Then  when  he  saw  Jim's  eyes  blaze  at  just  the 
right  heat,  the  Skinner  changed — as  though  by  im 
pulse. 
:     "Look  here,  Lucky!"    He  spoke  sharply,  but  at 


30        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

that  moment  his  shrewd  gray  eyes  and  hard  lean 
freckled  face  showed  more  real  feeling  of  the  soft 
kind  than  they  had  ever  shown  before.  "Don't 
miss  it.  You  know  I'm  with  you  all  de 
time.  You've  got  a  star  voice!  You've 
got  more  nerve  than  any  feller  I  ever  played 
against!  You're  a  little  winner!  Now  don't  miss 
it.  You  can  have  all  de  money  in  sight,  it's  just 
waiting.  And  you  have  to  have  it!  Don't  mind 
what  de  old  Dutch  says.  Is  he  a  star  in  a  show? 
No!  He's  slow,  an'  now  he  wants  you  to  learn 
the  same  slow  tricks.  Hold  on!  Don't  talk  yet! 
Come  in  here!" 

The  wise  Skinner  had  turned  their  walk  to  the 
cafe  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

He  now  pushed  Jim  in  the  wide  doors — into 
the  great  square  gilded  noisy  room,  with  the  little 
blue  clouds  of  cigar  smoke  rising  into  the  painted 
vault  of  the  ceiling. 

He  pushed  through  to  a  gay  boisterous  crowd  at 
a  table  near  the  music. 

"Here  he  is,  Bill — now  fix  him,  quick!" 

And  before  the  waiter  could  hustle  them  out,  the 
Skinner's  big  jolly  friend — a  Wall  Street  broker — 
had  seized  Jim  and  boosted  him  up  on  the  musi 
cians'  platform,  and  turning  about  had  roared: 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CENTURY      31 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  take  pleasure  in  an 
nouncing  'Faust;  or,  the  Drunkard's  Dream,1  as 
sung  for  two  years  in  every  saloon  on  the  Bowery — 
by  Lucky  Jim,  the  gambler." 

A  tumult  of  surprise  and  clapping. 

Jim  took  one  look  down  into  the  lights  and  flash 
ing  jewels  and  sparkling  eyes.  He  felt  the  old  luck 
swell  in  him ! 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  began  to  sing. 

At  first  his  voice  felt  loud  and  strange.  But 
then  as  he  sang  he  could  feel  this  rich  gay  crowd 
listening,  just  as  the  tough  old  Bowery  crowds  had 
listened,  first  laughing  delightedly  at  the  words  in 
the  opening  verses,  then  changing  as  the  crude  so 
prano  voice  took  hold,  half  of  them  staring  right 
up  into  his  eyes. 

It's  a  Y  nderful  warm  feeling  to  see  a  whole 
crowd  of  eyes  stare  at  you  like  that — especially  the 
eyes  of  rich  beautiful  ladies. 

Jim  could  feel  his  voice  soar  out  and  thrill,  his 
hands  went  into  his  coat-pockets,  and  he  leaned 
forward,  holding  all  those  eyes  and  making  them 
glisten.  He  drank  it  in  and  grew  warm,  and  the 
warmth  went  into  his  rough  glorious  song.  The 
song  grew  glad,  again  the  old  words  were  dragged 
up  into  brightness — a  grotesque  startling  contrast 


32        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

of  youth  and  decay.  Jim's  head  went  back,  his 
eyes  closed,  and  the  voice  simply  poured  out  quiv 
ering! 

And  then  he  sat  down  with  the  Skinner's  friends, 
sipping  delicious  hot  red  punch,  silent — his  eyes 
roving  around  the  cafe* 

The  "Rip"  was  raising  the  roof.  The  street's 
glorious  race  was  on  the  home-stretch,  Jim  could 
feel  it  in  his  blood — like  the  hot  punch  that  made 
him  tingle.  Not  the  soul,  but  the  very  flesh  and 
blood  of  music !  It  danced  and  flashed  out  of  eyes, 
it  thrilled  in  loud  laughs  and  fast  excited  voices. 
Parties  got  all  mixed  up,  strange  hands  were 
grasped  and  pulled  closer,  feet  and  hands  beat  time. 
For  the  Hungarian  orchestra  had  had  plenty  of 
cognac,  and  now  with  glistening  eyes  they  jerked 
and  scraped  fiddles  and  shouted.  The  "Rip"  rocked 
and  swayed.  Six  college  students,  a  marine  en 
gineer  just  ashore,  a  Jewish  lawyer,  two  Wall 
Street  brokers  and  a  Tammany  politician — began 
shouting  together  that  vague  mysterious  old 
song:  "The  smoke  goes  up  the  chimbly  just  the 
same!" 

Then  up  rose  a  sharp  abominable  fascinating 
college  cheer.  Wild  applause ! 

From  another  corner  rose  two  old  graybeards: 


THE  SONG  OF  TH2  CENTURY      33 

"Kai-yoo !  Kai-yoo !  Kai-yoo !  Who  are  you  ? 
Kansas !" 

The  marine  engineer  leaped  up,  roaring: 

"All  hands  to  the  tops !"  He  jumped  on  a  table ; 
and  again  the  smoke  went  up  the  chimbly,  the  pro 
prietor  grew  anxious  and  protested,  and  the  en 
gineer  shut  his  eyes  and  yelled: 

"Bring  in  all  the  proprietors  in  the  world  and  all 
the  waiters  and  all  the  fiddlers  an'  all  an*  all  and 
let's  all  have  a  drink!" 

And  Lucky  Jim  was  still  silent. 

He  felt  a  hot  nervous  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"This  is  it — money !"  whispered  the  Skinner. 

Jim  took  a  long  shaking  breath  and  smiled. 

But  soon  he  heard  the  roar  die  down.  Faces 
were  turning  to  the  musicians'  platform. 

Faintly,  from  'way  up  above  the  noise,  a  simple 
melody  came  floating  down.  Jim  looked  sharply 
around. 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  trembled.  He  could  feel 
it  come;  as  the  talking  and  laughing  and  chuckling 
scattered  and  died  down,  it  came  louder  but  softer 
and  warmer — and  to  Jim  it  was  not  the  sound  of  a 
fiddle,  but  the  very  voice  of  old  Fritz : 

"Vay  up— up — to  big  beauties — vill  you  come? 
Villyou?  Vill  you?" 


34        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Jim's  nerves  had  been  strained  to  the  highest 
pitch;  this  question  suddenly  filled  all  his  tingling 
inside.  And  when  it  died  away  he  was  thrilled  by 
the  silence  and  then  by  the  roar  of  applause. 

But  when  in  a  moment  more  the  crowd  forgot 
the  whole  song  and  went  on  with  its  laughing  and 
shouting,  then  Jim  stared  over  at  the  face  of  old 
Fritz,  who  was  watching  him  from  the  orchestra. 
He  saw  the  anxiety  hidden  under  the  twinkling  blue 
eyes,  and  his  sudden  wave  of  admiring  love  as  sud 
denly  changed,  and  he  thought  to  himself: 

"Poor  old  feller— poor  old  feller !" 

And  a  moment  later  he  too  had  forgotten  old 
Frit/  and  soared  on  up  with  the  crowd. 

Another  glass  of  punch — sweet,  sharp  and  hot, 
racing  down  the  throat  and  creeping  out  through 
legs  and  arms  and  fingers,  making  his  heart  pound 
and  his  soul  whirl. 

And  again  the  crowd  roared  and  laughed  and 
lived.  Ladies'  eyes  flashed  like  big  soft  jewels.  And 
the  room  rocked  to  the  rag-time.  Once  more  the 
Skinner  leaned  close,  whispering: 

"Money!" 

And  at  this  Jim  dizzily  rose;  he  stared  round 
and  round,  he  leaped  up  on  the  table;  and  then, 
with  hands  and  arms  swaying,  eyes  sparkling, 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CENTURY      35 

breast  heaving,  soprano  voice  strained  to  the  high 
est  pitch,  he  led  the  crowd  in  the  song  of  flesh  and 
blood  and  nerves;  the  song  of  the  street  and  the 
race  and  the  jerk  and  the  roar,  the  soul  of  the 
century — rag-time ! 


CHAPTER  V 

A  GOOD  SOUND  TALK  ON  AMERICAN  BUSINESS 

JIM  old  man!" 
Jim    looked   up   with    a    quick   pleased 
smile.     The    "Rip's"    proprietor    always 
called  him  that. 

The  man  stood  smiling  down,  with  his  warm, 
soft  jeweled  hand  on  Jim's  ragged  shoulder.  It 
was  Saturday  night,  three  weeks  after  Jim's  first 
triumph. 

"Jim  old  man  come  over  here." 

They  went  to  a  corner  table. 

Jim  felt  suddenly  suspicious.  He  looked  hard 
at  the  proprietor — but  the  big  man's  eyes  only 
twinkled  back: 

"You're  a  sharp  one,  Jim.  You've  been  watch 
ing  me  for  the  last  three  weeks.  Now  what  do 
you  think?" 

"I  think  you're  square." 

Jim  was  right.  The  proprietor  was  a  square 
straightforward  man  of  business. 

He  leaned  back  and  Jim  leaned  forward 

36 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK         37 

"Jim,  I  like  you.  And  you  like  me.  Why? 
Because  we  both  mean  business;  business  is  a  fight 
for  money — and  we're  both  good  fighters.  You 
have  a  voice  and  I  have  a  cafe.  So  far  my  cafe 
is  better  than  your  voice,  because  there's  more 
money  in  it.  How  did  I  make  it  so?  By  watching 
every  chance  and  grabbing  it.  I've  gone  to  Paris, 
Berlin,  Vienna,  Buda  Pesth — always  watching. 
Every  good  thing  I  see  I  bring  here,  and  then  I 
make  it  work.  I  have  to,  because  there  are  hun 
dreds  of  other  cafes  fighting  me  all  over  New  York. 
Now  Jim — there  are  thousands  of  singers — fight 
ing  you  all  over  New  York." 

He  paused,  watching  Jim's  hands  work  nerv 
ously. 

uAnd  I  think  you  will  beat  them." 

Jim's  face  brightened. 

"But  you  won't  if  you  try  to  go  slow.  You've 
got  to  grab  the  chance  when  it  comes.  It  came 
with  you  here — three  weeks  ago.  You  grabbed  it, 
you  made  a  hit  and  you  have  come  every  night 
since,  and  I've  let  you  come.  Why?  Because  I 
saw  you  were  the  kind  that  wins.  You  went  at  it 
hard,  you  made  it  ring!  But  since  then  you've 
stopped;  you've  been  going  slow;  you  sing  as 
though  you're  afraid  of  hurting  something;  you 


38        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

only  sing  once  and  you  go  home  at  ten  o'clock.  You 
act  like  an  old  man — or  as  though  an  old  man  were 
holding  you  back." 

He  looked  over  at  old  Fritz  in  the  orchestra,  and 
Jim  looked  too. 

"Now  Jim — what  has  that  done?  Why,  they 
don't  applaud  as  they  did?  First,  because  you  sing 
as  I  said,  and  second,  because  you  leave  before  they 
are  well  livened  up.  So  you  make  only  half  the 
money  you  did — I  don't  want  that.  My  Hungar 
ians  sing  hard,  they  forget  everything  and  just 
throw  heart  arid  soul  into  the  music.  So  can  you — 
and  beat  them  all — if  you  want  to.  If  you  don't — 
then  I  don't  want  you  here." 

"What?"  Jim  felt  something  drop  inside  of 
him. 

The  proprietor  smiled  kindly. 

"No,  Jim — because  I  hate  to  see  a  star  man 
waste  himself.  I  like  stars.  I  hate  losers.  I  only 
have  one  loser  here — and  he's  only  here  because 
he's  such  a  queer  old  fiddler  that  he  makes  variety 
in  the  programme." 

He  watched  Jim  again  look  quickly  over  at  old 
Fritz. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  want  men  with  me  who  are 
rising  fast.  I  want  you.  I  want  you  to  make  piles 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK         39 

of  money.  Why?  Not  because  I  am  your  friend 
— though  I  do  like  you,  but  because  I'm  watching 
this  cafe  every  minute,  and  I  want  men  who  will 
boom  themselves  and  the  cafe  together.  I  want 
you  to  feel  you  are  fighting  with  me  against  other 
cafes.  See?  And  fight  as  I  fight,  with  every  ounce 
of  strength ! 

"Now  here's  my  proposition:  You  go  on  sing 
ing — as  you  are — with  your  friend  Joe  to  play.  I'd 
rather  let  him  go,  but  you  wouldn't  agree  to  that." 
As  he  saw  Jim's  face  flush  he  added:  "You  see  I 
know  you.  So  let  Joe  play  and  pass  his  hat  for  the 
nickels.  Your  money  is  in  dollars,  and  it  comes 
from  me.  But  I  don't  pay  by  the  week.  I  pay  for 
what  you  do.  It  all  rests  with  you  whether  you  get 
rich  or  stay  poor.  I  pay  you  only  for  encores. 

"Now  here's  my  advice:  Sing  first  just  at  the 
close  of  the  table  d'hote,  when  the  men  begin  smok 
ing.  After  that  go  about  and  talk  to  the  ladies  if 
they  seem  to  want  you ;  tell  them  about  sleeping  out 
as  a  newsboy;  tell  them  about  the  time  when  you 
were  Lucky  Jim  the  gambler;  make  them  like  you. 
They  will — and  that  makes  encores.  When  they 
ask  you  to  sing,  tell  them  I  won't  let  you.  Keep 
them  waiting.  They'll  think  I'm  a  brute  and  they 
will  want  you  all  the  harder.  They  will  send  for 


40        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

me,  and  I'll  give  in  and  you'll  sing.  And  that 
makes  encores.  Keep  most  of  your  singing  until 
eleven  o'clock  or  later,  for  then  they  are  at  their 
highest.  And  that  makes  encores.  See  what  I 
mean?  Watch  your  people  all  the  time. 

"And  here's  how  I  pay :  For  every  encore  before 
eleven  o'clock,  25  cents,  and  for  every  double  en 
core,  60  cents.  After  eleven  o'clock  for  every  en 
core,  50  cents,  and  for  every  double  encore,  a 
dollar." 

A  moment  he  watched  Jim's  face  suddenly  glow 
ing  and  the  hands  clinching  each  other  tight,  and 
then  he  added,  slowly: 

"For  no  encores — nothing.  And  if  you  sing 
three  nights  running  without  a  single  encore — then 
I  will  ask  you  to  go  away." 

Jim  fell  back  in  his  chair,  but  his  eyes  never  left 
the  eyes  of  the  other. 

"Now  Jim  old  man,"  the  man  leaned  over 
kindly,  "don't  you  see?  I'm  honest.  It's  a  plain 
open  business  proposition.  It's  nothing  new.  Every 
successful  business  man  uses  it  to-day,  and  that's 
why  this  country  beats  Europe.  It's  just  a  simple 
scheme  to  make  every  man  do  his  best.  You  can 
get  rich  or  stay  poor— just  as  you  choose.  What 
do  you  say?" 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK         41 

The  proprietor  smiled. 

Jim  was  staring  straight  before  him.  After  a 
minute  he  smiled  back — a  little. 

"I  guess  I  know  how  I'll  choose.  But — if  I  sing 
and  get  paid  only  for  encores — I'll  sing  hard — I 
know  I  will — awful  hard !  Suppose  I  sing  too  hard 
and  spoil  my  voice?  The  old  one  said  I  would — 
and  the  old  one  knows." 

The  proprietor  made  a  quick  gesture  of  annoy 
ance,  but  as  he  looked  over  at  old  Fritz  his  face 
softened  into  the  genial  pitying  kindness  of  a 
strong  man  for  a  weak  one. 

"Poor  old  chap — look  at  him." 

Jim  looked  over  at  Fritz  and  then  turned  back 
slowly. 

uHow  did  you  know  he  was  the  one  I  meant?" 

"Look  at  him  again." 

Jim  looked  and  saw  Fritz  staring  at  them  anx 
iously. 

The  proprietor  smiled. 

"Poor  old  chap — it  isn't  hard  to  know  what  he 
thinks.  Ever  since  you  came  I  have  noticed  that 
look  on  his  face.  It's  the  same  old  look,  I've  seen 
it  on  him  a  dozen  times  in  the  last  ten  years,  and  it 
means  he  is  trying  to  'save  a  voice.'  Kind  simple 
old  Fritz!" 


42        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

Jim  looked  up  in  surprise.  There  was  no  mis 
taking;  the  proprietor  was  not  pretending  kindness; 
he  really  meant  it. 

"Why — you — like  him,"  said  Jim,  slowly. 

"Like  him?  Of  course  I  do.  Every  one  does." 
The  proprietor  gave  a  half-annoyed  little  laugh. 
"We  all  like  him  and  that's  just  the  danger.  He's 
a  regular  old  grandfather,  always  looking  for 
grandsons  with  voices.  He  gets  a  promising  young 
singer,  treats  him  so  kindly  the  youngster  grows 
fond  of  him,  and  then  old  Fritz  begins  'saving' 
the  youngster's  voice.  If  he  only  could  save  it,  I'd 
give  him  a  fat  salary  just  for  that  purpose.  But  he 
don't  save  a  voice — he  preserves  it.  He  gives  you 
all  sorts  of  queer  old  Dutch  ways  of  breathing  and 
holding  your  tongue  and  God  knows  what  else.  I 
have  no  doubt  he  has  given  them  all  to  you,  so  you 
know  about  how  it  works.  You  get  so  you  hardly 
know  your  own  mouth.  And  it  isn't  yours,  it's  a 
mouth  Fritz  has  made.  I  don't  say  this  new 
mouth  might  not  learn  to  sing — some  time — 
when  you  are  as  old  as  Fritz.  But  the  trouble 
is,  most  of  us  want  to  sing  while  we're  young. 
So  most  of  Fritz's  grandsons  break  away  in  a 
few  months  and  come  back  here  and  just  sing 
with  their  own  mouths.  Ask  Fritz  if  they 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK         43 

don't.    So  they  Ve  wasted  two  or  three  months  with 
nothing  to  show." 

"Now  Jim  Vm  not  trying  to  re-shape  your 
mouth;  I  believe  a  man  can  sing  best  with  the 
mouth  God  gave  him.  But  I  will  give  you  just  one 
pointer.  Don't — waste — time!  You  can't  afford 
it.  This  business  is  a  race — you  are  up  against  ten 
thousand  others  all  fighting  you. 

"No  doubt  Fritz  has  told  you  it  isn't  a  fight. 
'We  are  all  brothers — each  helping  the  other.'  But 
we're  not.  It  don't  work  out.  'Be  good  and  you'll 
be  happy,  but  damn  lonesome.'  That's  Fritz.  He 
is  happy.  He  was  happy  when  I  first  found  him 
here,  running  a  one-room  cafe  called  'The  Little 
Room.'  Everybody  liked  him  and  owed  him  money. 
The  poor  old  chap  just  made  enough  to  live  on,  and 
that  was  all  he  wanted.  Most  of  us  want  more.  I 
did.  That's  why  I've  made  the  place  what  it  is, 
and  that's  why  I  can  pay  old  Fritz  more  now  in 
salary  than  he  got  before  when  he  was  owner.  You 
may  think  I  pay  him  more  than  he  is  worth  be 
cause  I  like  him.  Well,  that  may  have  a  little  to 
do  with  it.  But  the  main  reason  is  that  old  Fritz's 
solo  takes  with  the  public.  Why?  Because  it's  the 
song  of  Brotherhood  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  the 
public  likes  just  a  touch  of  it — no  more.  And  sq 


44        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Fritz  has  lived  his  kind  of  life  and  sung  his  kind  of 
song,  and  this  is  just  about  as  far  up  as  it  takes  him. 
Is  this  all  you  want?  If  you  do,  I  don't  want  you 
here. 

"Because  Jim  the  thing  you  want  is  a  quick  rise 
— 'way  up !  And  in  this  country  you  get  that  by 
throwing  yourself  body  and  soul  into  your  work! 
You  don't  get  it  by  saving  yourself.  I  low  do  you 
know  what  your  voice  will  be  a  year  from  now? 
Use  it  while  you've  got  it.  Make  money — Jim — 
drink  in  life,  drink  in  this  glorious  flesh-and-blood 
life  around  you;  watch  your  public,  talk  with  'em, 
know  'em,  fool  with  'em  and  then  sing  it  all  back 
to  'em — and  you'll  rise  quick! 

"By  Jove!  Those  Hungarians  are  wonders, 
aren't  they?" 

The  orchestra  had  suddenly  swept  from  a  slow, 
dreamy  prelude  into  the  deep  seductive  throb  of 
"Sourire  d'Avril." 

To  Jim,  the  very  air  seemed  swaying,  and  the 
blood  grew  warm  in  his  veins. 

He  watched  one  beautiful  lady  near  him. 

She  was  very  young.  She  had  just  come  in  from 
the  theatre;  her  rich  gray  fur  cape  was  thrown  far 
back,  her  black  dress  was  all  sparkling  with  silver 
and  cut  'way  down ;  Jim  watched  the  velvet  bands 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK         45 

that  held  it  to  the  shoulders;  he  watched  the 
shoulders  move  and  the  lips  move  and  the 
brown  eyes  move — and  dance!  And  then  the 
eyes  met  his — and  Jim  leaned  suddenly  for 
ward. 

''That's  it — Jim,"  the  proprietor  whispered. 
"Sing  it  back  to  her — now !  That  Italian  love  song ! 
Quick!" 

And  before  Jim  could  tear  his  eyes  from  the 
brown  ones  he  was  on  the  platform  and  Joe's 
coarse  clumsy  beautiful  chords  were  waiting. 

He  sang  the  song  that  Joe  had  learned  ten  years 
before  on  the  streets  of  Naples.  The  music  felt 
better  than  Fritz's  music,  fhe  song  was  warm  and 
rich  and  glad  as  the  lady  herself;  Jim's  deep  pure 
voice  shook,  and  the  big  eyes  of  the  lady  glistened, 
her  small  lips  smiled;  and  the  cafe  looked  on  and 
saw,  and  understood;  and  when  Jim  finished,  the 
whole  room  rang  with  applause. 

Jim  felt  his  heart  suddenly  bound,  for  she  was 
beckoning ! 

He  sat  with  her  party  till  midnight,  next  to  her, 
talking  fast  and  low,  telling  them  about  his  old  life 
on  the  street,  about  Joe  and  the  Skinner,  and 
"craps,"  then  stopping  short  and  staring  at  his  wine 
glass. 


46        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

He  felt  the  brown  eyes  smiling  at  him.  He  shiv 
ered  'way  inside. 

44 Jimmy,  do  you  know — I  came  down  here  just 
to  hear  you  sing.  I  heard  all  about  you  from 
Gretchen." 

"Gretchen!  Oh,  you're — why,  you  must  be— 
Miss  Louise!" 

"Yes.  And  Gretchen  is  a  little  dear!"  She 
turned  to  the  other.  "The  quaintest  little  madchen 
— she  does  stunning  old  German  embroidery — I'll 
show  her  to  you  some  night." 

Jim  scowled.  There  was  something  in  her  tone 
he  disliked.  But  when  her  wonderful  eyes  beamed 
down  again  he  forgot  everything.  Again  the  deep 
shiver. 

"And  the  queerest  old  dear  of  a  German 
daddy  !n  she  went  on.  "I'll  have  him,  too — to  play 
his  fiddle.  Why,  there  he  is  now  I  Look  at  him  !" 

As  they  all  turned  around,  Jim  saw  old  Fritz's 
face  suddenly  bend  to  his  fiddle  as  though  to  hide 
something. 

The  eyes  of  ^  ;s  Louise  grew  soft  again. 

"Poor  simple  old  man — he  lives  in  a  quiet  old- 
fashioned  little  heaven  that  just  grew  out  of  his 
fiddle.  He  knows  about  as  much  of  things  in  this 
big  outside  world — as  I  do!" 


A  SOUND  BUSINESS  TALK          47 

They  all  laughed.  They  had  a  way  of  laughing 
so  quickly,  these  gay  people,  changing  from  sad  to 
gay  in  one  twinkle  of  the  lady's  big  eyes. 

When  the  whole  gay  bewildering  evening  was 
over,  the  genial  proprietor  took  Jim's  arm  again 
and  said: 

"Jim  old  man — you've  done  it.  Here's  your 
pay  for  to-night." 

He  poured  nine  shining  quarters  into  Jim's 
hand. 

"And  this  is  nothing.  If  you  can  bring  cham 
pagne  people  like  that  here — real  big  ones  Jim — 
extra  dry — then  I'll  raise  wages  in  a  month.  And 
that  is  nothing!  Why  Jim  if  you  make  friends 
with  people  like  that,  they'll  lift  you  'way  up  and 
your  future  is  made  in  a  minute!  That's  what 
money  can  do.  I  think  you're  ready  to  shake  hands. 
Aren't  you?  Good!  Now  look  here,  Jim,"  his 
voice  lowered,  "there's  old  Fritz  waiting.  I  don't 
have  to  tell  you  this — but — treat  him  kindly.  Don't 
drop  him  too  quick,  it  would  break  him  all  up. 
Don't — don't  hurt  him.  Why  don't  you  walk  home 
with  him?  Poor  kind  old  Fritz  !" 

Jim  turned  slowly  and  saw  Fritz  watching.  And 
Jim  smiled — kindly.  Fritz's  little  blue  eyes 
twinkled,  as  with  an  effort.  Jim  could  see  how  he 


48        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

felt.    He  hurried  over  quickly  and  they  went  out 
together. 

The  proprietor  smiled. 

Poor  old  Fritz. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  BEAUTIFUL  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES 

OOR  old  Fritz.  How  slow  he  walked. 
Lucky  Jim  felt  mort  like  running,  but  in 
stead  he  kept  carefully  in  step  and  glanced 
sideways  and  noticed  that  he  himself  was  taller 
than  the  old  figure  bent  down  to  push  against  the 
strong  night  wind.  Poor  old  Fritz.  What  a  square 
old  fellow  he  was,  and  how  he  loved  the  girl,  and 
how  she  loved  him.  How  kind  he  had  been  to 
Lucky,  what  a  bully  little  room  it  was,  what  good 
times  they  had  there — simple  little  times.  What  a 
pity  the  old  man  knew  so  little  of  the  world,  what  a 
shame  he  had  not  succeeded  in  life  and  had  missed 
the  real  big  things  that  money  brings.  But  he 
should  have  them  now.  Jim  would  raise  them  both 
up  with  him,  'way  up — quick!  But  he  would  sing 
as  he  thought  best.  Still,  he  could  listen  to  Fritz's 
advice ;  let  the  old  man  think  he  was  helping.  How 
slow  he  walked.  Poor  old  Fritz. 

"If  you  vant  to  run,"  cried  Fritz,  stopping  short, 

49 


50        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"vy  don't  you?"  He  glared  up  with  such  a 
ludicrous  mixture  of  indignation,  despair  and 
iwinkle  in  his  eyes,  as  though  he  had  read  Jim's 
every  thought,  that  Lucky's  startled  stare  changed 
to  a  smile,  and  then  he  laughed  heartily,  and  so  did 
Fritz. 

"Veil!"  cried  Frit/  at  last,  "I  laugh — I  laugh 
like  a  Frenchman  1" 

But  the  laugh  soon  died  out  of  his  eyes,  and  as 
they  walked  on,  frequent  grunts  showed  how  anx 
iously  he  was  thinking. 

Back  in  the  old  room  he  spoke: 

"Jimmy,  some  day  I  vill  talk.  Now — nothing 
— it  ees  better  so.  Only  this — you  are  young  und 
strong,  you  feel  quick,  you  vant  to  sing  quick.  I 
can't  stop  you.  Effery  man  must  sing  his  own  song. 
But  let  me  help,  Jimmy — let  me  help !  Think  of 
me  vat  you  vill,  smile,  laugh,  say  I'm  old!  But 
let  me  help  so  you  don't  spoil  dot  voice !  Remem 
ber — vunce — I  helped  a  voice — only  vunce,  but 
vunce  so  high!  Now  it  sings  in  de  opera  in  Berlin 
und  Vienna — so  fine !  Ach !  So  fine !  Remember, 
Jimmy,  vunce  I  did!" 

He  looked  up  eagerly,  with  one  hand  on  Jim's 
shoulder.  The  hand  shook.  Lucky  looked  away. 

"Jimmy,  you  need  in  your  life  some  quiet — goot 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES        51 

food,  goot  sleep  und  help  for  de  voice.    Maybe — 
you  like  to — -come  here — und  live — yes?" 
Jim  turned  and  squeezed  the  old  hand  hard. 

"Yes!"  he  whispered. 
************* 

So  Jim  had  wonderful  suppers  and  a  bedroom, 
small  but  spotlessly  clean;  he  learned  from 
Gretchen  countless  tricks  about  cleanliness  and 
other  things;  and  he  felt  sometimes  in  a  bewildered, 
half-pleased  way,  that  he  was  growing  civilized. 

But  this  seemed  small  beside  that  absorbing  twi 
light  hour  when  Fritz  worked  with  him  on  his 
voice.  This  hour  was  filled  for  Jim  with  the  same 
new  feeling  of  srnallness  that  he  had  felt  the  first 
night  when  Fritz  played  the  fiddle,  a  feeling  of 
humility  before  something  far  away  and  radiant — 
Fritz's  "World  of  Big  Beauties."  He  wanted  to 
work  forever,  climbing  slowly  toward  it.  So  he 
dreamed  in  the  twilight. 

But  in  the  evening,  in  the  sparkle  of  lights  and 
eyes  and  the  throb  of  the  waltz  and  the  rag-time, 
there  grew  the  other  feeling  of  joy  before  some 
thing  close  and  warm  and  tingling,  he  wanted  to 
reach  out  at  once  with  his  voice  and  hold  all  the 
eyes  and  make  them  burn. 

Soon  all  the  cafe  grew  to  know  him;  his  fame 


52       THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

traveled  on  uptown,  where  the  rich  people  heard 
that  a  wonderful  boy  soprano  had  appeared  in  the 
"Rip."  They  flocked  down,  and  Jim's  wages  were 
raised.  And  the  honest  proprietor  smiled. 

Jim  had  anxious  mornings  in  the  empty  cafe, 
learning  Joe's  beloved  old  songs  from  Naples. 

It  was  wonderful  how  Joe  had  grown  to  know 
the  piano.  No  one  knew  where  he  practiced  or 
how.  He  played  nothing  but  accompaniments  for 
Jim — a  background  of  coarse  rich  beauty — 
fierce  and  throbbing  and  crashing — the  very  street 
itself!  But  sometimes  low  and  dreamy  and  full  of 
passionate  yearnings;  and  in  moments  like  these — 
with  his  big  grimy  hands  caressing  the  keys,  Joe 
would  gaze  up  at  Jim  and  listen;  and  the  look  in 
his  eyes  was  as  though  he  had  found  one  bright 
beautiful  song  in  a  world  of  clashing  discords,  and 
would  be  ready  to  give  his  life  or  his  soul,  or  any 
one  else's  soul,  if  the  time  ever  came  when  that 
song  was  in  danger. 

Danger  was  already  near. 

The  proprietor  kept  smilingly  insisting  that  Jim 
should  chat  between  songs  with  the  ladies.  Little 
by  little  Jim  yielded  to  their  amused  admiring  ques 
tions  about  his  life  as  a  gambler;  he  began  painting 
himself  as  a  slum  "character,"  and  acted  the  part. 


u 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES        53 

He  saw  more  and  more  of  the  wise  shrewd 
Skinner"  and  the  old  street  gang;  again,  for  hours 
at  a  time,  he  saw  only  the  dice. 

And  as  Jim  became  more  and  more  his  old  street 
self,  the  old  fever,  the  longing  to  seize  a  chance  and 
rise  quick  without  work,  burned  steadily  fiercer. 

He  understood  the  proprietor  now.  He  was  in 
the  fight  body  and  soul;  he  sang  for  money  and 
applause. 

And  when  the  spring  drew  on  and  rich  people 
began  leaving  town  and  the  flood  of  money  less 
ened,  then  he  sang  harder  still,  spurred  on  by  a 
vague  fear  that  his  hold  on  the  public  was  breaking. 

And  when  all  this  began  to  tell  on  his  voice,  he 
only  tried  fiercely  to  clear  off  the  hoarseness. 

At  such  moments  in  a  song  he  would  hear  low 
furious  curses  behind  him;  he  would  glance  around 
at  Joe  impatiently. 

As  the  hoarseness  grew  worse  night  after  night, 
the  curses  and  growls  deepened.  Jim  grew  steadily 
more  irritable,  and  at  last,  one  night  at  the  end  of 
a  song  he  turned  sharply: 

"Look  here  Dago!  Quit  your  swearinM  What's 
wrong,  anyhow?" 

Dago  Joe  looked  up  still  angry  but  with  pain  in 
his  eyes,  as  though  Jim's  words  had  cut  deep. 


54        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Lucky  saw  this  and  impulsively  took  Joe  into  the 
little  rear  room  for  a  drink. 

"Dago!  'What's  wrong  ?" 

"You— killade  voice !" 

Joe  spoke  low — his  thick  voice  shaking. 

"Say — you  remember  dat  woman  old  an*  thin — - 
so  long  ago  when  we  was  kids — my  mudder.  She 
come  in  de  saloon  an*  swear  an*  pull  me  out^-she 
come  wid  me  to  our  room — she  crie!  She  worka 
hard,  hard  for  me — she  sew  de  coats  -an'  pants  in 
de  sweatshop !  So  she  go  sick — she  cough — she 
cough !  No  worka  now — I  play  here  in  de  'Rip' ! 
I  take  money!  Doctor,  bottles,  sticking  cloth!  I 
sit  up  all  night !  No  use !  She  die." 

lie  leaned  over  the  table. 

"She  die  from  de  sweatshop!  Well,  here  it  is 
a  sweatshop  too!  You  killa  de  voice!  You " 

Joe  swung  round  sharply.  The  proprietor  stood 
close  behind  him. 

"Trying  to  scare  Jim,  eh?  It's  good  Jim's  nerve 
is  too  strong  for  you.  Come  Jim  old  man,  they 
want  another  song.  Here — drink  up,  it  will  help 
you." 

He  smiled  down  encouragingly  as  Jim's  face 
slowly  tightened. 

"By  the  way  Jimmy,  I  noticed  a  little  hoarseness 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES       55 

in  your  voice  to-night.  Been  bothering  you  a  good 
deal  lately?  Well  now  why  didn't  you  come  to 
me?  I've  got  some  dope  that  will  make  you  think 
you're  a  nightingale!  All  ready?  Good — come 
on.  And  say  Jim  give  'em  that  sad  one:  'Cheer 
Up  Father  For  Mother's  Got  A  Job!'  Give  it  to 
'em  hard.  Make  'em  howl !  Things  are  too  quiet 
to-night!" 

He  turnedtangrily  to  Joe : 

"Stop!    Not  you!" 

Joe  turned  slowly  back.  Jim  had  gone.  One 
moment  the  big  handsome  man  and  the  short  burly 
boy  of  nineteen  looked  at  each  other.  The  pro 
prietor  gave  a  short  laugh  of  disgust: 

"You  needn't  go  out  that  door.  I've  told  an 
other  man  to  play  his  accompaniment.  That  door 
will  be  more  in  your  line."  He  pointed  to  a  door 
into  the  alley.  "I've  done  with  you.  You  only 
got  here  in  the  beginning  through  Jim,  and  yet 
you  do  nothing  but  mope  and  scowl — because  you 
are  jealous !  That's  why !" 
"Is  it?" 

Joe's  deep  chest  swelled  under  the  red  handker 
chief,  the  muscles  of  his  swarthy  neck  stood  out, 
but  his  big  dull  eyes  only  looked  straight  at  the 
proprietor. 


56        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Yes !    Get  out !    I'm  done  with  you  I" 

"But  I — I  ain't  done — wid  you !" 

Joe's  face  grew  livid  and  his  hand  jumped  into 
his  bosom.  But  it  stopped  and  fell;  he  turned 
slowly  and  went  out. 

All  that  evening  the  proprietor  encouraged  Jim, 
and  Jim  drank  and  sang,  and  felt  the  rasping  in 
his  throat,  and  drank  again. 

And  long  after  midnight,  when  he  reached  home, 
he  stumbled  again  and  again  on  the  steep  dark 
stairs;  he  fumbled  vainly  with  his  key  for  the  lock; 
in  the  room  he  knocked  over  a  chair,  and  at  the 
noise  he  collapsed  into  the  big  leather  chair  and 
huddled  up  close  and  shivered. 

The  liquor  in  him  was  acting  so  strangely.  One 
minute  he  would  grow  warm  and  tingling  and 
would  smile  and  smile  into  the  dull  glow  of  the 
dying  fire.  The  next  minute  something  in  him 
would  drop,  he  would  sink  down  and  down — icy 
cold,  and  shake  until  his  teeth  chattered.  But  he 
fought  down  the  wild  shriek  that  was  in  him. 

When  old  Fritz  came  out  in  his  long  quaint 
nightrobe,  Jim  heard  nothing  till  a  hand  slowly 
pressed  his  hot  forehead. 

And  then  he  leaped  up,  snarled,  stumbled  out 
into  the  entry  and  down  the  steep  stairs,  falling, 


. 


./ 


• 


r  /  '•; 

r  ** 

.^•y..-,Mi 


• 


'Dago  Joe's  big  dull  eyes  looked  straight  at  the  proprietor. 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES       57 

rising,  stumbling.  He  reached  the  cold  bracing 
air,  breathed  hard  and  deep,  got  his  bearings  and 
walked  off  fast,  gripping  his  feelings. 

He  slept  the  rest  of  the  night  and  half  the  next 
day  in  one  of  his  old-time  newsboy  holes  under  a 
sidewalk. 

Then  he  went  to  the  proprietor,  who  talked  hard, 
and  Jim  felt  stronger  as  he  listened.  He  was  shown 
how  to  use  the  "dope" — the  throat  medicine.  He 
did  not  sing  that  night  nor  the  next,  but  the  pro 
prietor  kept  him  in  the  cafe  and  let  him  sleep  in  a 
bedroom  upstairs. 

He  saw  nothing  of  Fritz,  for  Fritz  kept  back 
in  the  orchestra  and  seemed  never  to  look  Jim's 
way. 

In  a  week  the  soreness  was  gone  from  his  throat, 
and  though  it  felt  queer  when  he  sang,  still  the 
sound  seemed  to  come  out  all  right,  the  people  still 
applauded. 

He  missed  Joe's  wonderful  chords;  he  sang  now 
with  the  orchestra  behind  him.  He  felt  the  jealous 
Hungarians  try  to  spoil  his  song  by  dragging; 
and  with  the  old  joy  of  fighting,  he  lifted 
them  on,  lifted  till  his  voice  felt  the  strain,  then 
drank  and  lifted  again.  And  still  he  won  the 
applause. 


58        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

The  climax  came  on  a  balmy  Saturday  evening 
in  June. 

Miss  Louise  had  come  back  to  town  over  Sunday 
for  a  wedding,  and  she  came  down  with  a  jolly 
crowd,  who  sat  round  the  big  center  table. 

Jim  sat  silent  beside  her,  with  so  strange  a  look 
in  his  broad  dark  flushed  face  that  she  kept  lean 
ing  over,  her  brown  eyes  softening,  asking  what 
was  the  trouble.  But  Jim  would  only  smile  up,  and 
when  his  turn  to  sing  came  he  would  start  nervously 
and  climb  up  by  the  orchestra  and  sing  the  old 
songs,  at  first  with  little  fire  ;but  as  he  sang  his  voice 
warmed  and  the  queer  roughness  was  smoothed  off; 
and  the  moment  it  was  gone  Jim  seemed  to  change, 
his  eyes  flashed,  his  hands  made  the  quick  wonder 
ful  speaking  Italian  gestures  that  Joe  had  taught 
him,  and  his  voice  soared  out  as  of  old — glad  and 
pure  and  thrilling. 

But  when  he  finished  and  sat  down,  soon  one 
hand  would  creep  to  his  throat;  again  the  strange 
look.  And  this  kept  on  till  midnight. 

He  grew  more  nervous  and  unnatural,  till  his 
face  was  such  a  contrast  to  the  others  that  Miss 
Louise  cried  impatiently: 

"Why  Jimmy  you  look  like  'The  Drunkard's 
Dream'  itself !  You  are  a  queer  one  !n 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES        59 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment — drinking  in  this 
unique  phase  of  humanity. 

"Jimmy,  I  wish  I  had  a  picture  of  you  now — at 
this  moment.  You're  perfectly  stunning — almost 
tragic!" 

Jim's  eyes  blazed. 

"Won't  you  ever  quit  laughin'?" 

"Jimrry,  I'd  like  to  hear  you  sing  The  Drunk 
ard's  Dream.'  Will  you — please?" 

Jirn  sneered  into  her  dazzling  eyes  and  then 
swore  an  oath  that  made  all  the  ladies  shiver  with 
delight.  He  sprang  up  by  the  orchestra,  and  as 
the  soft  low  prelude  began  he  turned  sharply. 

"Say,"  he  cried,  hoarsely,  "play  it  quicker!" 

The  Hungarians  caught  the  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
the  music  grew  fierce,  impatient,  wild. 

And  Jim  sang. 

Twice  in  the  song  he  cleared  his  throat  as  though 
he  would  blow  out  the  hoarseness.  His  hands  were 
clinched  behind  him,  his  eyes  gleamed  like 
the  eyes  of  an  animal  at  bay,  and  his  voice 
rushed  on — mocking  the  sad  words,  mocking 
the  music,  mocking  the  gay  flushed  faces,  mocking 
itself. 

It  was  indeed  almost  tragic — "perfectly  stun 
ning!"  And  Miss  Louise  and  her  friends  held 


60        THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

their  breath,  with  a  delicious  feeling  that  something 
awful  was  to  happen. 

Old  Fritz  stopped  playing  and  leaned  'way  for 
ward. 

But  Lucky  Jim  saw  nothing.  He  hardly  heard 
the  words  or  the  music.  The  room  was  a  blurr  of 
whirling  lights.  Deep  in  his  throat  that  sore  spot 
was  quickly  spreading.  So  the  game  was  done! 
Suddenly  his  old  dream  swept  over  him  dimly  just 
for  an  instant — his  song  in  the  glorious  big  show — 
the  song  that  might  have  been  !  He  stopped  short 
in' "The  Drunkard's  Dream"  and  laughed  a  crazy 
laugh,  and  then  with  a  furious  effort  he  cleared  his 
throat  and  soared  into  the  finale: 

"I  grab  the  bar  tight! 
I  feel  I  must  fight! 
This  curse  inside  me! 
Where  can  I — hide — me? 
With  a  big  sad  sob — I  shout: 
I'm  down " 

Up  and  up — recklessly — till  he  seized  the  high 
note! 

And  then  his  voice  broke. 

He  felt  himself  sink  into  a  chair.  He 'felt  the 
whole  great  gilded  room  silent  and  watching,  and 


A  SWEATSHOP  FOR  VOICES       61 

this  made  him  angry.  He  felt  Miss  Louise's  soft 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  this  made  him  angry. 
He  heard  the  proprietor's  strong  kindly  encourag 
ing  voice  in  his  ear,  and  this  made  him  angrier  still. 

He  felt  his  arm  seized  by  a  big  quivering  hand; 
he  looked  up  and  saw  old  Fritz,  and  then  suddenly 
Jim's  black  curly  head  went  down  in  his  hands  and 
shook.  He  felt  ashamed  and  tried  fiercely  to  steady 
down. 

And  while  he  tried  he  heard  Fritz's  voice  speak 
ing  to  all  the  people.  Never  had  it  sounded  so 
strange  and  harsh : 

" You  haf  raced  a  voice  to  death !  You — you — 
all  you!  You  race  und  fight — for  money!  You 
race — to  eat  und  drink!  You  race — for  somet'ing 
new  !  You  grab  dis  voice !  You  lash !  You  put  in 
your  fire !  So — So  now  you  kill  dis  voice !" 

His  harsh  tones  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"Come,  Jimmy.  Yes— so— let  me  hold  you— so. 
Ve  go  away — ve  go  und  sleep." 

Old  Fritz  led  Jim  slowly  out  the  side  door  into 
the  alley.  Jim  sank  down  in  the  dirt,  and  Fritz 

waited. 

In  the  cafe  was  a  long  silence,  then  a  buzz  of  ex 
cited  voices;  then  again  the  orchestra  starting  a 
rag-time. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  THE  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

FROM  the  open  cafe  window  a  stream  of 
light  poured  down  on  the  short  burly  fig 
ure  of  Dago  Joe.  His  eyes  glittered.  He 
shrank  into  a  shadow. 

As  Jim  and  Fritz  went  slowly  away  he  turned 
and  followed  them. 

When  he  saw  Fritz  lead  Jim  into  their  tenement 
entry,  he  stopped  outside  for  a  long  time.  How 
carefully  he  was  thinking. 

At  last  he  went  in  to  the  housekeeper's  door, 
knocked  and  kicked  furiously,  spoke  quickly  and 
hurried  away. 

The  woman  came  out,  cross  and  heavy-eyed,  in 
her  nightdress;  she  looked  up  and  down  the  dark 
hall,  alarm  and  curiosity  struggling  with  sleepiness ; 
then  she  went  back  and  dressed,  and  went  up  to 
Fritz's  room. 

"Who's  dyin'?"  she  asked.    "What  can  I  do?" 

Fritz  was  bending  over  Jim  who  lay  back  in  the 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  "THE  RIP9    63 

big  chair.  He  looked  up,  startled.  Then  he 
smiled: 

"No  Mrs.  Schmidt  ve  are  not  dyin1  yet." 

"Well,"  cried  the  woman  now  thoroughly  angry, 
"some  one  kicked  on  my  door  and  called  in  that 
you  people  had  some  one  dying  and  wanted  me 
quick!" 

"Nobody  dyin1  here,"  smiled  Fritz.  "But  maybe 
dere  ees  somebody  above  or  below.  Here !  I  go 
mit  you." 

The  housekeeper  and  old  Fritz  went  from  room 
to  room.  The  big  dark  tenement  was  slowly  roused 
from  top  to  bottom.  Window  after  window  flared 
down  into  the  street. 

And  when  Joe  waiting  below  saw  this,  he  seemed 

satisfied,  and  hurried  down  the  street. 

************* 

Fritz  was  still  out  of  the  room. 

Suddenly  Jim  felt  a  delicious  coolness  on  his 
head.  It  sank  down  into  his  mind,  drowning  the 
aches  in  a  minute.  He  could  feel  her  press  lightly 
on  the  cool  wet  cloth;  and  with  a  deep  shaking 
breath  of  relief  he  turned  and  saw  her  big  blue 
eyes  looking  deep  into  his,  as  if  she  felt  all  the 
aches  herself. 

To  Jim  staring  up  sHe  seemed  suddenly  older. 


64      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Don't  you  dare  to  talk  or  even  think,"  she  whis 
pered. 

He  reached  up  awkwardly  and  took  her  hand 
and  pulled  it  slowly  toward  his  cheek,  and  let  go 
and  felt  ashamed  of  himself.  He  felt  the  hand 
quickly  withdrawn,  but  after  a  long  silence  it  came 
down  again.  And  he  felt  a  deep  swift  rush  of  feel 
ing — a  feeling  entirely  new. 

But  the  hand  only  moved  the  cloth  further 
down  over  his  forehead,  and  he  heard  her  move 
away. 

He  opened  wide  his  eyes  and  stared  into  the 
coals.  Once  he  heard  her  coming  again  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  held  his  breath.  But  she  changed  her 
mind  and  went  back. 

Jim  nestled  down  deeper;  the  delicious  coolness 
sank  down  and  down  into  his  head,  and  he  drifted 
up  into  darkness. 

This  darkness  soon  grew  heavy  and  warm  with 
throbs  of  rag-time  music;  he  was  in  the  "Rip"  try 
ing  to  sing.    And  so  he  struggled — drifting. 
************* 

"Hush!"  It  was  Fritz's  whisper.  "Let  him 
sleep — Gott  in  Himmel !" 

Jim  glanced  quickly  sideways  and  saw  old  Fritz 
leaning  forward  with  an  open  letter  and  some 


IVHA T  HAPPENED  TO  "THE  RIP"    65 

money  in  his  hands.    The  little  blue  eyes  twinkled 
with  anguish;  they  were  dumb,  stunned,  groping. 
"Daddy,  it's  all  because  of  Jim.     It's  all  his 

fault!" 

Gretchen  fell  forward  sobbing,  with  her  soft 
shining  hair  on  Fritz's  knees. 

And  at  this  Jim  i'elt  a  dizzy  rush  of  dread;  he 
stiffened,  opened  his  eyes,  reached  forward,  seized 
the  letter  from  the  floor  and  read  it. 

Old  Fritz  had  been  discharged. 

"All  because  of  Jim."  The  thought  rose  and 
filled  his  dazed  mind  and  burned  in  waves.  Up  and 
down,  up  and  down.  Slowly  the  old  white  head 
and  the  young  one  grew  blurred;  again  they  drifted 
away  till  their  voices  were  only  strained  whispers; 
she  kept  sobbing  and  kissing  Fritz's  hands,  and 
then  she  grew  <]uiet—  exhausted  from  excitement 
and  lack  of  sleep;  her  cheek  was  pressed  to  Fritz's 
cheek,  she  only  whispered  softly  now  and  then. 
And  again  Jim  drifted  into  the  darkness. 

*'************ 

The  faint  clang  of  a  fire-gong  rang  in  the  dis 
tance  and  jerked  swiftly  nearer.     It  was  coming 
right  into  the  room !    Jim  bounded  up— dizzy,  and 
held  with  both  hands  to  the  mantel.     The  floor 
.  under  him  trembled.     Clang,  clang  1     Galloping 


66      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

hoofs  and  rumbling  wheels.    He  staggered  to  the 
window,  where  Gretchen  was  already  leaning  out. 

Without  knowing  why,  he  suddenly  put  his  arm 
around  her  and  felt  her  trembling  and  drew  her 
tight.  More  bells  came  clanging.  Never  before 
had  he  felt  the  horror  of  alarm  as  he  felt  it  now  in 
the  trembling  of  her  small  shoulders. 

A  policeman  was  hurrying  by  below. 

"Ask  him/*  she  whispered.    Jim  leaned  out: 

"Where  is  the  fire  ?" 

The  policeman  looked  up  impatiently. 

"The  Rip  Van  Winkle !"  he  shouted  and  hur 
ried  on. 

They  heard  a  sharp  cry  behind  them.  Old  Fritz 
was  struggling  blindly  with  his  overcoat.  Gretchen 
ran  to  him  and  tried  to  hold  him,  but  he  shook  her 
off,  and  as  Jim  started  to  go  out  with  him,  Fritz 
pointed  to  the  big  chair. 

"Don't  you  move  till  I  come  back !    Don't  you  I" 

The  door  slammed. 

Gretchen  turned  slowly  and  sank  into  the  chair; 
the  faint  glow  of  the  fire  made  her  face  look  flushed 
— but  still  unreal. 

Jim  rubbed  his  eyes.  Was  everything  a  dream 
to-night?  Was  he  himself  real?  He  wondered 
more  and  more  at  himself  as  at  another  person.  For 


"  THE  RIP"    67 

now  he  was  leaning  over  holding  one  of  her  hands, 
and  he  heard  himself  whisper: 

"You're  all  right  Gretchen.  Don't  look  that 
way !  You're  all  right." 

He  sank  down  on  the  floor  and  drifted  off,  and 
came  to  with  a  start — and  looked  up  and  saw 
Gretchen  still  staring  into  the  fire.  But  the  horror 
was  gone  from  her  eyes,  they  hardly  looked  tired; 
they  were  serious,  trying  to  think.  How  much 
older  she  seemed! 

Again  the  hot  heavy  darkness. 
************* 

Loud  knocks  at  the  door.  He  heard  Gretchen 
go  out,  and  then  low  gruff  voices  rose  louder  and 
louder.  Jim  pulled  himself  up  and  went  to  the 
door  and  opened  it.  Two  men  stood  by  Gretchen. 

"There  lie  is!"  cried  one  of  them.  The  other 
man  wore  a  shield  under  his  coat.  Jim  drew  back  I 
The  man  only  watched  him. 

"Were  you  discharged  from  the  'Rip'  last 
night?" 

Jim  nodded. 

"Do  you  know  the  'Rip'  was  half  burned  down 
two  hours  ago?" 

Jim  nodded. 

"How  do  you  know  it?" 


68      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Jim  rubbed  his  eyes  and  understood,  and  his 
throat  thickened.  He  told  briefly  how  they  had 
heard  the  gong,  how  he  had  called  down  to  the 
policeman,  and  how  Fritz  had  run  off  to  the  fire. 

"And  look  here!"  he  ended  eagerly,  straining  to 
sweep  off  the  crime  that  was  fastening  on  him, 
"Ask  the  housekeeper.  She  was  here,  she  knows 
we  were  all  home  when  it  happened. " 

He  started  to  run  downstairs  ahead,  but  the  de 
tective  held  him. 

"No,  I  guess  I'll  see  her  first,"  the  man  said 
grimly.  And  to  Jim  the  walk  downstairs  seemed 
hours. 

The  housekeeper  was  roused  and  told  her  story, 
and  then  the  tenants  were  questioned,  and  at  last 
the  detective  was  satisfied  and  went  away. 

How  lucky  the  housekeeper  had  been  wakened 
that  first  time!  It  could  not  have  been  better  i£ 
some  one  had  planned  it  ahead. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LUCKY  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED 

SAY!    I've  got  a  job!" 
With   these   words   Jim   burst   into   the 
room.     It  was  eight  o'clock  the  next  morn 
ing.     Gretchen  was  bending  over  Fritz  who  lay  in 
the  deep  chair,  and  Fritz's  face  was  so  white  that 
Jim  stopped  short.     He  pushed  his  cap  back  over 
his  curly  black  hair  and  stood  by  the  fire  warming 
his  haiids,  trying  to  keep  silent.     But  when  Fritz 
opened  his  weary  eyes  and  smiled  at  him,  then  Jim 
eagerly  burst  out  again : 

"I've  got  a  bully  job !  Hunted  for  it  all  day  an' 
now  I've  got  it!  It's  only  four  dollars  a  week  but 
he  says  he'll  raise  me  in  a  year.  And  he  says  if  I 
do  things  right  I  can  go  'way  up  and  make  all  kinds 
of  money.  He  says  one  man  started  like  me  at  six 
teen  and  now  he's  a  millionaire!  I'm  to  begin  at 
six-thirty  to-morrow!" 

Old  Fritz  leaned  back  and  laughed.  He  laughed 
at  first  with  plain  heartless  mirth,  then  with  the 

69 


7o      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

teriderest  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  at  Jim ;  and 
then,  as  though  Jim  had  made  him  think  of  some 
thing  he  feared,  he  drew  Gretchen  suddenly  tight, 
and  laughed  in  unsteady  bursts,  which  grew  lower 
and  weaker;  he  squeezed  Gretchen's  arm  till  the 
veins  on  the  hack  of  his  old  hand  stood  out  blue  and 
crooked,  and  he  stared  silently  into  the  fire. 

Jim  looked  at  Gretchen.  Poor  old  Fritz — how 
sick  he  was! 

Gretchcn's  big  eyes  were  terribly  anxious.  But 
as  Jim  looked  he  saw,  with  a  sudden  shock,  that  she 
was  anxious  too  for  him.  The  longer  she  watched 
the  worse  grew  her  eyes — till  Jim  cleared  his 
throat  desperately  and  looked  down  at  his  feet. 

"You"-  —her  voice  was  very  low — "you  iuok  sick 
too.  What  have  you  been  doing?  Where  have 
you  been?" 

Jim  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Was  every 
body  crazy  ?  What  business  was  it  of  hers  ?  Then 
he  began  to  feel  sick.  He  walked  suddenly  into  his 
room  and  slammed  the  door. 

What  a  fool  she  was!  Sick?  Cold?  He  never 
felt  warmer  in  his  life;  he  was  burning  hot;  he 
could  feel  it  on  his  cheeks.  Softly  he  swore  under 
his  breath,  till  he  heard  old  Fritz's  voice: 

"Jimmy!" 


L  UCK  Y  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED      7 1 

"Well?" 

"I'm  sorry  I  laugh  alreatty.  I'm  sick.  Dot's 
why." 

So  Fritz  at  least  wasn't  crazy.  If  that  infernal 
girl  would  only  get  out. 

"Say  Jimmy.  So  you  begin  vork  to-morrow. 
Veil,  votvork?" 

A  silence. 

"Livery  stable." 

Jim  stopped  short,  for  he  thought  he  heard  the 
beginning  of  another  laugh.  But  the  other  room 
was  silent.  Only  a  sudden  explosive  breath  from 
Fritz  as  though  he  were  suffering.  And  then  his 
cheery  old  voice: 

"Veil?" 

•"I'm  the  man  that  feeds  the  horses.  There's  one 
black  horse,  and  she's  a  beauty.  You  ought  to  see 
her  eyes !  She  used  to  be  on  the  track !" 

Jim  came  back  to  the  fire. 

"Votyou  feed  her?" 

Jim  thought  hard  a  minute. 

"Well,  you  see  I've  only  just  begun  the  business." 

He  saw  Gretchen  watching  proudly. 

"Why,"  he  burst  out,  "corn  and  hay  and — some 
times  oats  and — meat  sometimes!" 

He  thought  he  heard  the  laugh  again  and  glared 


72       THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

round,  but  Fritz's  face  was  only  weak  and  tense, 
with  eyes  closed  and  hands  gripping  the  sides  of  the 
chair. 

"Veil,"  whispered  Fritz,  "vot— vot  else?" 

"Water!  Pails  of  it — about — three  pails — the 
minute  she  gets  into  the  stable.1' 

"Won't  she,"  it  was  Gretchen,  "won't  she — kick 
you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jim  sharply.  "Of  course  she'll  kick. 
You  ought  to  see  her  eyes.  Why,  you  can  read  in 
the  paper  any  day  about  fellers  killed  by  horses." 
Then  as  he  saw  her  eyes  grow  round,  he  added  in 
a  kinder  tone :  "But  she  won't  kick  me.  You  see  I 
know  something  already  about  horses;  I've  seen 
'em  on  the  track,  and  the  Skinner  knows  all  about 
'em,  and  he'll  tell  me.  Besides,  I  feel  like  I  knew 
this  black  horse  already." 

"Gootl  Fine!"  cried  old  Fritz.  "Say  Jimmy, 
you  must  get  odder  clothes." 

Jim  suddenly  looked  down  at  his  velvet  cafe  uni 
form.  That  was  why  the  livery  man  had  grinned ! 
He  blushed. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quickly,  "I'll  get  some  clothes. 
I  won't  have  time  to-morrow,  so  I'll  go  now." 

He  started  for  the  door. 

A  hand  touched  his  arm. 


LUCKY  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED       73 

"Jimmy!"  She  was  there  again — looking  up  as 
though  she  were  his  mother.  "You  look  sick.  Yes, 
you  do — please !" 

With  a  strange  bewildered  sheepish  feeling  mak 
ing  slush  of  his  mind  and  heart  and  soul,  Lucky 
Jim  turned  slowly  and  sat  down.  He  started  up 
impatiently,  but  sank  again.  The  chills  began 
creeping  all  over  him. 

"Yes,  you  are  sick!"  Her  voice  rose  in  alarm. 
She  made  him  go  to  bed,  actually  put  him  to  bed  in 
spite  of  his  indignant  protests;  she  hurried  out  and 
brought  some  hot  soup  and  made  him  drink  it,  gave 
him  medicine,  made  him  delicious  crisp  toast, 
laughed,  hummed  old  songs,  kissed  Fritz  in  the 
other  room,  brought  Jim  a  hot  bottle  wrapped  in  a 
towel  to  warm  his  feet,  laughed  when  he  growled 
at  this,  felt  his  head  and  brought  a  cool  cloth  and 
pressed  it  over.  And  all  this  was  done  with  be 
wildering  swiftness  and  softness — not  a  sound  bui 
low  laughs  and  humming.  Jim  objected  to  each 
successive  thing,  and  then  smiled  with  relief  and 
comfort  the  minute  it  was  done.  And  when  it  was 
over  he  simply  lay  back  with  eyes  closed,  and  felt 
her  hands  press  down  the  cloth,  and  heard  her  go 
away. 

"Crazy !"  he  thought.    "All  crazy !" 


74      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

The  chills  crept  up  and  down,  his  bones  ached, 
he  could  feel  his  head  burn  into  the  cool  cloth  till  it 
grew  hot  too.  Yes  he  was  sick — but  only  as  he 
had  been  many  times  before  in  the  old  street  life. 
He  remembered  one  time  when  he  was  only  a  kid. 
The  night  watchman  of  a  certain  big  newspaper 
building  had  warned  the  gang  to  keep  away,  and 
they  had  laughed;  and  then  one  night  the  man  had 
turned  a  hose  in  under  the  steps  where  they  slept. 
How  sick  he  had  been  the  next  day.  He  had 
sneaked  into  a  dark  warm  basement  and  crept  under 
a  bench  and  lain  there  in  a  pile  of  rags,  with  the 
chills  and  burnings  all  day  and  night. 

Yes  a  girl  was  certainly  all  right — when  a  fel 
low  was  sick.  He  heard  her  in  the  next  room  doing 
all  these  things  to  Fritz  and  kissing  him  besides — 
over  and  over.  Thank  God  he  wasn't  Fritz! 

" Veil !  Now  fix  Jimmy !"  At  Fritz's  voice,  Jim 
started  as  though  caught  in  something,  and  his 
checks  grew  ten  times  hotter. 

She  felt  his  cheeks. 

"Oh!"  Her  voice  was  so  anxious  that  Jim 
opened  his  eyes. 

"Say,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  he  asked, 
sharply. 

She  only  looked  down.    Then  she  leaned  down. 


LUCKY  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED       75 

"Jimmy,"  she  whispered,  "don't  you  dare  to  talk 
again!"  And  after  that  she  began  doing  things 
all  over  again. 

"Veil,"  called  old  Fritz  weakly,  "how  you  like 
our  fine  old  nurse?" 

"She's  all  right,"  said  Jim,  grudgingly.  Silence. 
More  fixing. 

"Say,"  called  Fritz,  "how  sick  are  you  ?" 

"I  ain't  sick,"  said  Jim,  feebly. 

"He  is!"  said  Gretchen.    Jim  shut  his  eyes. 

"Say,"  called  Fritz,  "you  shoost  stay  in  bed  to-j 
morrow.  Dot  horse  can  live  anudder  day  alreatty,| 
widout  meat." 

"No,"  said  Jim  decidedly,  "I've  got  to  be  there] 
at  six-thirty." 

"You  don't,"  said  Gretchen. 

Jim  slowly  opened  his  eyes — arid  closed  then] 
very  quickly. 

"You  can't,"  she  added. 

Jim  gripped  himself  like  a  man,  but  kept  his  eycj 
shut  tight. 

"I  will!"  he  said,  firmly.  "I've  got  to  or  I'| 
lose  my  job.  Hold  on  now  !  Let  me  talk!" 

His  voice  rose,  talking  to  Fritz. 

"I've  got  to  keep  that  job.    I  tried  eighteen  oth| 
places  Before  I  got  this  one.     If  I  don't  keep 


^6      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

where  will  we  be?  I  tell  you  weVe  got  mighty 
little  money.  I've  only  forty-eight  dollars  saved 
and  that  won't  last.  WeVe  got  to  pay  the  rent 
next  week,  and  coal  and  grub  and — and  things  -for 
you  if  you  stay  sick.  I  tell  you  IVe  thought  it  all 
out.  I  can't  lose  a  day !  Ain't  that  right  ?" 

He  sat  up  hot  and  stiff,  listening. 

At  last  the  silence  in  the  other  room  was  broken 
by  a  deep  quivering  sound  that  made  Jim  leap  out 
of  bed  and  go  to  the  door. 

Old  Fritz  sat  shaking  in  the  big  chair;  from 
his  eyes  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks;  and  those 
quivering  sounds  kept  coming,  while  Gretchen 
kissed  him  over  and  over,  though  her  face  was  al 
most  as  bad  as  his. 

"Say,"  said  Jim,  sharply  but  very  low,  "ain't  that 
right?" 

"No,  no!"  Fritz  reached  out  his  hand.  "Jimmy, 
come  here!" 

And  the  minute  Jim  took  that  hand  it  closed  on 
his  so  tight  that  Jim  sank  down  to  his  knees,  half 
choking. 

"Jimmy  you  must  go  avay ;  it  vill  neffer  do !  Ve 
pull  you  down  too!  I  know  I  can't  make  no  money 
more.  Go,  Jimmy,  go!" 

"No  I  won't  go!" 

\ 


L  UCK Y  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED       77 

Jim  felt  his  very  soul  shake  inside  of  him. 
"You  fixed  me  up  when  I  was  in  saloons,  you 


did — you  know  you  did.  You  fixed  mj^voice.  You 
gave  me  this  place  and  showed  me  this  kind  of 
livin'  and  you  didn't  swear  at  me  when  I  was  a  fool 
in  the  'Rip' — you  just  waited  till  I  could  see  it  my 
self.  And  then  you  lost  your  job  on  account  of  me. 
And  I  want  to  stay  here  always  and  help  you.  I'll 
get  rich  and  give  it  all  to  you  and  her — that's  all 
I  want — I  want  to  stay.  And  you  ain't  got  any 
right  to  fire  me.  So  I'll  stay.  An'  that's  all  there 
is  to  it!" 

He  rose  and  turned  his  back  and  indignantly 
wiped  his  eyes. 

"He  will  stay!"  cried  Gretchen,  and  now  even 
her  voice  was  shaky.  "You  can't  stop  him!  He'll 
do  anything  he  wants  to!  He  will!  And  daddy, 
his  voice  isn't  gone.  Dear  daddy  say  it  isn't !  And 
you  can  help  him  save  it.  So  he'll  do  you  good 
and  you'll  do  him  good.  So  let  him,  daddy."  The 
voice  sank  and  was  muffled  in  kisses.  "Daddy — i 
daddy,  don't  feel  so — don't  you  dare  to.  We'll  be 
so  strong  again  and  happy.  So  you  will  let  him? 
You  must,  daddy,  because  he  will  anyway — he'll 
do  anything  he  wants  to." 

Another  silence,  till  Jim  felt  Fritz's  hand  pulling 


78       THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

him  back — closer  and  closer.  Fritz  was  hugging 
him,  and  he  was  hugging  Fritz.  Crazy — all  crazy! 
And  at  last  Fritz  tried  to  speak  and  missed  it,  and 
tried  again,  and  then  cried: 

"I  vill — I  shoost  vill  talk!"  And  he  gripped 
Jim's  hand  and  shouted:  "Jimmy,  you  vill  stay 

here  all  your  life  alreatty!" 

************** 

Slowly  Jim  cuddled  in  under  the  clothes,  feeling 
very  faint  and  giddy.  In  the  other  room  he  could 
hear  the  low  drowsy  hum  of  her  voice,  singing  an 
old  German  sleep-song.  This  made  Jim  drowsier 
and  drowsier. 

He  was  almost  asleep  himself  when  he  felt  her 
press  a  delicious  fresh  cloth  on  his  head.  She  kept 
pressing,  but  so  very  softly;  then  just  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  crept  down  his  cheeks ;  her  fragrant  breath 
was  closer  and  closer.  Up  and  up  he  drifted.  She 
seemed  at  the  same  time  very  close  and  far 
away. 

And  then  he  heard  her  whisper: 

"You  must  sleep  all  to-morrow — just  sleep — 
sleep — just  sleep.  You  will,  won't  you,  please?" 

How  much  older  she  seemed. 

Jim  smiled  and  went  on  drifting.  The  chills 
kept  pulling  him  back,  but  at  this  he  only  smiled 


LUCKY  JIM  IS  BEWILDERED       79 

again.  He  smiled  at  the  whole  world,  at  old  Fritz, 
at  himself  most  of  all. 

At  last  he  heard  her  rise.  Swish,  swish,  swish, 
went  her  dress.  And  the  door  was  gently  closed. 

Jim  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  a  moment  won- 
deringly  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"Crazy — all  crazy !" 


CHAPTER  IX 

TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER 

IN  the  next  three  years  Jim  held  resolutely  to 
his  work  in  the  stable. 

He  made  endless  mistakes,  broke  a  good 
many  things,  and  had  sudden  fits  of  anger ;  but  after 
each  trouble  he  was  heartily  sorry  and  worked  so 
late  at  night  to  make  up  for  it  that  his  wages  were 
raised  to  five,  then  to  six  and  at  last  to  eight  dollars 
a  week. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  horses.  Most  of 
his  mistakes  lay  in  trying  to  do  new  things  for  them. 
The  great  race  horse  grew  to  know  Jim's  weak 
ness,  and  whinnied  all  kinds  of  tid-bits  out  of  him, 
for  when  she  arched  her  slender  neck  and  poked 
her  nose  into  his  hand  and  looked  down  at  him, 
Jim  could  refuse  her  nothing.  He  used  to  neglect 
his  other  work  dreaming  over  her  old  triumphs  on 
the  track;  he  eagerly  learned  her  whole  glorious 
record,  and  he  was  forever  bothering  coachmen  to 
find  some  wonderful  medicine  that  might  still  cure 
her  stiffness. 

80 


TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER       81 

"That  boy,"  said  a  kind  old  Danish  coachman 
who  knew  Jim's  story,  "he  loves  the  mare  because 
he's  a  thoroughbred  racer  himself.  He's  off  the 
track  and  so  is  she.  And  she  knows  it  as  well  as  he 
does,  an'  that's  why  she's  been  so  gentle  ever  since 
he  came.  Helpin'  each  other  bear  it — yes,  sir!" 

At  last,  when  Jim  was  eighteen,  he  was  allowed 
to  drive  her — in  a  spick-and-span  hansom  cab. 
That  was  a  proud  time.  His  wages  were  raised  to 
ten  dollars  a  week,  the  open  air  made  him  glow  all 
over  with  health,  and  the  mare  seemed  to  feel  his 
hand  and  steady  down.  So  they  both  worked  on, 
shying  and  snorting  at  common-day  life,  dreaming 
old  dreams,  but  doing  the  day's  work. 

Till  one  sparkling  frosty  morning  a  fire  engine 
dashed  by  the  edge  of  the  park,  and  then  the  mare 
simply  couldn't  stand  it.  She  bent  her  beautiful 
head  and  stretched  and  doubled,  the  cab  tipped  and 
plunged,  and  Jim,  guiding  her  down  the  broad  park 
road  round  curves  and  past  blatant  automobiles, 
lost  his  first  thrill  of  fear,  forgot  the  shouting  po 
lice,  the  shrieking  ladies  and  even  the  two  delighted) 
college  sports  inside  the  cab;  and  as  that  splendii 
animal  went  wild  with  the  joy  of  racing,  Jim  leanei 
'way  over  the  cab. 

"Go  on — go  on — go  on  !"  he  was  shouting. 


82      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

And  the  next  thing  he  knew  he  lay  in  the  snow, 
the  cab  lay  on  its  side  and  the  great  mare  stood 
frothy  and  quivering  between  two  policemen. 

"Is  she  hurt?"  he  cried  jumping  up. 

No  but  terribly  shaken.  And  so  was  Jim — in 
body  and  spirit. 

That  night  he  went  off  with  his  old  friend  the 
Skinner  and  drank  hard  and  had  a  long  night  over 
the  dice,  and  lost  a  week's  wages. 

And  then  he  came  home  at  dawn  and  found 
Gretchen  waiting. 

"Hush  !  Don't  let  daddy  hear,"  was  all  she  said. 
But  Jim  saw  the  look  in  her  eyes  for  days  and  days, 
and  this  kept  him  straight  for  months  after. 

He  spent  most  of  his  evenings  at  home. 

Old  Fritz,  though  much  feebler  now,  was  still 
as  gay  in  the  evenings.  He  was  giving  violin  les 
sons  again — two  or  three  a  day  in  his  room,  and 
at  night  he  would  sit  in  the  big  leather  chair  with 
his  fiddle,  and  play  the  tenderest  quietest  happiest 
songs,  while  Gretchen  played  beside  him. 

Jim  watched  her. 

She  was  just  made  for  accompaniments. 

Dago  Joe's  chords  had  been  loud,  jerky,  strange 
and  sad,  like  music  struggling  in  the  dark;  hers 
were  slower,  tenderer,  stronger — twining  round  the 


TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER      83 

song  of  the  fiddle  as  though  forever  protecting  and 
filling  it  with  life. 

Now  and  then  she  would  hum  a  low  sweet  sec 
ond,  smiling  round  at  the  bent  white  head,  her  eyes 
shining. 

How  much  older  she  was.  Jim  wondered 
vaguely  what  had  done  it.  Why,  old  Fritz  of 
course;  his  long  sickness,  the  anxiety,  the  night 
watching,  the  hard  work  she  did  for  Miss  Louise 
and  her  friends,  for  she  was  always  sewing.  Just 
about  a  woman  now — eighteen,  but  a  good  deal 
older. 

What  lights  came  into  her  eyes,  and  how  rich 
was  her  voice,  with  a  hundred  new  shades  of  feel 
ing  in  it — still  new  ones  when  you  thought  you 
knew  them  all.  How  soft  and  brown  was  her  hair. 
She  fixed  it  in  that  same  queer  big  German  ring, 
because  Fritz  liked  it  so.  She  wore  a  loose  white 
dress,  like  what  Miss  Louise  used  to  wear — only 
without  all  the  fool  extra  things. 

Just  about  a  woman. 

Then  her  eyes  would  meet  his,  and  at  once  she 
would  look  away  at  Fritz,  an  j  so  would  Jim,  while 
old  Fritz  saw  nothing,  didn't  even  notice  the  break] 
in  her  playing,  but  fiddled  on  softly,  staring  into] 
the  fire. 


84      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

She  was  a  queer  girl.  Jim  couldn't  make  her 
out. 

Sometimes  for  days  she  ignored  him  and  was 
wonderfully  loving  to  Fritz.  Again  she  sat  for 
hours,  sewing  very  slowly  and  then  very  fast,  stop 
ping  to  gaze  out  of  the  window,  and  then  beginning 
all  over  again.  A  most  disturbing  silence. 

And  when  she  did  speak  it  was  often  worse,  es 
pecially  if  old  Fritz  was  out  of  the  room.  A  deep 
and  solemn  tone  was  underneath  all  she  said,  try 
as  she  would  to  force  the  old  laughs  and  jokes.  She 
was  too  simple  to  fool  anybody.  Jim  liked  this  very 
simplicity.  He  felt  himself  drifting  'way  up  into 
glad  voiceless  songs  that  rose  higher  and  higher. 

This  vague  delicious  artistic  drifting  of  Jim's 
she  would  break  by  the  queerest  questions,  put  in 
such  a  quiet  casual  way.  She  would  ask  about  the 
very  worst  things  in  his  past  life,  things  he  knew 
would  shock  her,  but  when  he  put  her  off  she  would 
fall  silent,  and  some  day  she  would  come  quietly 
back  to  the  same  question.  And  when  at  last  he 
had  blurted  it  all  out — the  gambling,  fighting, 
drinking,  then  she  would  ask  more  questions;  and 
as  Jim  answered  these  he  would  feel  himself  being 
excused  and  pitied  and  justified  in  a  most  bewilder 
ing  fashion — until  he  broke  out  indignantly: 


TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER       85 

"No,  that  wasn't  why!  I  did  it  just  because  I 
had  it  in  me!" 

Then  she  would  give  him  a  look  that  sent  the 
shivers  up  and  down  his  back,  and  would  go  on 
sewing  and  thinking. 

She  seemed  forever  wondering  about  women  he 
had  met  or  might  have  met;  he  could  vaguely  feel 
her  asking  questions  all  around  this  subject.  Mamie 
the  Bum,  Boston  Sarah  and  Spanish  Elsie  were 
taken  up  one  by  one,  in  spite  of  the  deep  shocks  she 
received  in  the  process;  and  then  the  younger  more 
respectable  "lady  friends"  who  had  graced  the 
gang's  picnics  and  dances,  until  at  last  it  was  abso 
lutely  certain  that  Lucky  Jim  had  despised  all 
women  and  girls  and  had  cared  only  for  gambling. 
And  at  this  she  actually  started  to  justify  gambling 
— a  little,  but  stopped  herself  sternly. 

One  ni;^ht  he  found  her  very  silent.  Only  now 
and  then  she  roused  into  sudden  tenderness  for 
Fritz,  and  when  Jim  tried  to  join  in  she  cast  on  him 
the  most  :ndignant  glances.  What  had  he  done? 
He  puzzled  in  vain. 

When  old  Fritz  went  to  bed  she  sat  by  the  lamp, 
sewing  hard.  At  last  she  told  him,  in  short  abrupt 
sentences,  of  the  song  recital  she  had  heard  at  Miss 
Louise's  big  house.  A  handsome  baritone  had  sung; 


86      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

he  had  sung  such  wonderful  dreamy  things  that,  as 
she  listened  bending  over  the  stairs,  she  had 
dreamed  of  her  whole  life  ahead — and  of  Jim's 
life,  and  everything  in  the  world  seemed  so  beauti 
ful.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  her  that  the  minute  the 
singer  had  finished,  all  those  women  got  around 
him,  petting  him  in  a  way  that  was_simply  sicken 
ing.  Spoiling  him  !  You  could  see  that  by  the  silly 
way  he  smiled. 

A  long  silence.    Jim  tried  to  look  interested. 

"Jimmy." 

"All  right.    Go  ahead." 

"Will  you  sing  in  opera  or  in  big  concerts,  or — 
in  little  recitals — or  how?" 

"Opera,"  said  Jim,  promptly.  "I  don't  want 
any  women  too  close.  I  want  'em  'way  down  in 
the  dark." 

"Jimmy!"  What  furious  delighted  sewing. 
"Why  don't  you  want  them  near  you?" 

"Because  I  don't.  None  of  'em.  Except — -well, 
I  don't  know." 

Me  stopped  arid  watched  her  sew.  How  much 
older  now !  The  sewing  went  even  faster,  but  as 
the  minutes  went  on  this  grew  slower. 

"Jimmy." 

Another  silence. 


TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER      87 

UA11  right.    Go  ahead." 

uYou  ought  to  like  them." 

"Like  who?" 

"Those  women.  You  needn't  like  them  too  much. 
But  be  just  plain  friends  with  them.  You  see,  at 
first  they  can  help  you.  Yes  they  can.  Miss  Louise 
knows  alLabout  it.  She  says  they  can  boost  you 
'way  up — twice  as  quick  as  any  one  else  can." 

"Yes,"  said  Jim,  angrily,  "they  did  boost  me  in 
the  'Rip';  they  boosted  so  hard  I  nearly  spoiled  my 
voice.  How  do  I  know  it's  ever  coming  back 
again?" 

"Oh,  Jimmy!"  Never  had  he  heard  a  voice  so 
absolutely  sure  of  something.  "Just  wait  till  my 
plan  is  ready  to  tell  you." 

So  he  felt  that  slow  process  go  on  through  the 
months,  encircling  his  past,  present  and  future.  So 
he  grew  to  see  why  she  asked  her  queer  questions. 
So  he  thought  of  her  more  and  more,  fiercely,  im 
patiently,  through  sleepless  nights,  through  hours 
of  work  in  the  stable. 

Until  one  night  he  made  a  tremendous  discov 
ery. 

The  Skinner  burst  into  the  stable  and  told  of  a 
wonderful  job  he  could  get  for  Jim  in  Wall  Street 
the  next  morning. 


88      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Only  office  boy,  but  there  ain't  any  end  to  the 
chances.  I  tell  you,  Lucky,  the  old  street's  a  big 
shake-up — at  lunch  you're  a  cheap  skate  eatin'  off 
the  hot-dog  wagon ;  at  supper  you're  a  Delmonico- 
Waldorf-automobile  millionaire !  There's  no  jump 
so  big  that  some  fellow  won't  take  it.  And  you- — 
what  are  you  here  ?  Private*secretary  to  a  horse — 
that's  you.  Now  cut  it,  Lucky — say  you'll  come." 

Jim  eyed  the  Skinner's  gray  Derby  hat  and  big 
checked  suit,  the  gay  lilac  handkerchief  and  pol 
ished  shoes — and  he  grinned,  simply  with  the  pleas 
ure  of  dreaming  about  it. 

"Well,"  cried  the  Skinner,  delighted,  "then 
you're  comin'?" 

"No,11  said  Jim,  still  smiling,  but  now  in  an  en 
tirely  different  dream,  which  the  Skinner  noticed. 
lie  watched  Jim  hard  and  grew  thoroughly  exas 
perated. 

"Lucky,"  he  sneered,  "do  you  remember  the  time 
Dopy  Ed  had  a  girl?  What  a  grinning  shivering 
fool  he  made  of  himself !  Well,  Lucky  Jim,  that's 
you  now.  Spoiled  1  Absolutely  melted  for  life!" 
The  Skinner's  voice  dropped  in  disgust.  "An*  all 

because  of  a  long-haired,  cooing,  giggling " 

************* 

That  night  Jim  limped  in  with  lips  all  swollen 


TWO  PEOPLE  GROW  OLDER       89 

and  plaster  over  his  broad  right  cheek-bone.  And 
when  Gretchen  started  up  Jim  only  growled: 

"Once  upon  a  time  the  Skinner  had  three  teeth," 
and  slunk  into  his  bedroom. 

When  later  she  came  in  to  ask  if  he  didn't  want 
supper,  he  growled  in  still  fiercer  tones : 

"No!     I  want  to  be  with  myself  I" 

And  so  he  was  all  night. 

Were  all  these  glorious  driftings  and  pictures 
and  songs  'way  inside  of  him — all  to  be  brought 
down  to  just  this  common  every-day  thing — "hav 
ing  a  girl?" 

With  uneasiness  and  then  with  a  deep  shiver  he 
saw  as  he  drifted  that  inextricably  woven  into 
every  song  and  dream  and  picture  were  the  voice, 
the  low  laugh  and  the  lights  in  the  big  blue  eyes  of 
Gretchen  !  His  whole  life  was  gathering  round  her 
so  fast  he  couldn't  think  clearly,  but  only  feel. 
Along  came  his  voice,  or  hopes  of  a  voice,  with  its 
radiant  cloud  of  future  triumphs,  rose  balconies, 
deep  rich  orchestra  chords,  breathless  silence,  deaf 
ening  bravos  of  applause — all  for  Gretchen !  What 
pride  would  shine  in  her  big  quiet  eyes !  What  joy 
in  her  low  voice !  What — kisses ! 

Jim  sat  up  suddenly  in  the  dark,  and  then  sank 
down. 


90      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

That  was  why  he  had  watched  her  lips  till  he 
knew  every  twitch,  every  smile,  every  tired  droop, 
every  angry  pout.  Why  had  he  warmed  to  old 
Fritz  and  wanted  to  work  for  him,  die  for  him — 
why?  Because  Fritz  was  the  father  of  Gretchen! 

Gretchen !  The  whole  world  growing  bright 
round  her  eyes,  singing  glad  songs  round  her  voice, 
the  whole  world  dropping  off  into  space,  and  just 
leaving  to  Jim  alone — in  his  arms,  laughing,  trem 
bling,  breathing,  kissing — Gretchen  I 

Jim  laughed,  leaped  up  and  stared  out  of  the, 
window,  breathed  in  big  cold  fresh  breaths,  broke 
training  and  stole  one  of  Fritz's  cigars,  puffed  and 
stared  into  the  gray  and  red  embers  of  that  eter 
nally  observing  old  fire,  calmed  down  and  softened 
as  he  smoked,  stopped  laughing  those  strange,  un 
certain  laughs,  and  felt  ten  years  older. 

"Having  a  girl." 

What  a  jpoor  ignorant  fool  was  the  Skinner. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  SHADOW  CREEPS  OVER  THE  DREAM  OF  GRETCHEN 


w 


HY  hello,  Joe !"  cried  Jim  suddenly,  turn 
ing  from  the  big  race  horse,  curry-comb 
in  hand.  " Where Ve  you  been  lately?" 

It  was  two  weeks  after  Jim's  great  discovery. 
He  had  worked  twice  as  hard  since  then,  and  was 
now  still  at  it  late  in  the  evening,  when  Dago  Joe, 
burly  and  dirty  as  of  old,  slouched  into  the  stall. 

Often  in  the  last  three  years  Joe  had  appeared  in 
just  this  way — silent,  watching  Jim  with  a  pecu 
liarly  anxious  look.  Only  now  and  then  he  would 
come  closer  and  growl: 

"Say,  is  your  throat  sore  any  at  all?  De  boss, 
he  make  you  drive  out  late  for  swell  dances?  Say! 
Don't  you  do  it!  You  want  no  coughs!" 

And  a  year  ago  he  had  begun  asking: 

"De  voice — you  feel  him  yet?" 

But  now  for  some  months  he  had  not  come  at  all. 

"Where Ve  you  been?"  asked  Jim. 

Joe  seized  Jim's  arm. 

9« 


92       THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"You  come  I"  he  cried,  eagerly.  "I  show  where 
I  been!" 

An  hour  later  Joe  and  Jim  stood  squeezed  be 
hind  a  narrow  wing  on  the  stage  of  a  tiny  Italian 
theatre.  It  was  over  a  saloon,  just  a  long  narrow 
room,  the  rear  benches  rising  close  to  the  ceiling. 
The  benches  were  packed  with  peddlers,  bootblacks 
and  ditch-diggers;  rows  of  big  swarthy  faces,  red 
handkerchiefs,  thick  necks,  and  black  tumbled  hair 
over  gleaming  eyes.  All  gazing  up  at  the  fiery 
"Romance  of  Roland.n  This  romance  had  hun 
dreds  of  acts,  continuing  night  after  night  for  five 
months ;  each  act  was  full  of  gay  ladies  and  knights, 
of  terrible  fights  and  gallant  love  speeches.  Knights 
and  ladies  were  only  big  puppets  of  tin  and  tinsel, 
but  to  these  ragged  Italians  it  ail  seemed  quite  as 
real  as  American  ditches  and  freezing  snow  bliz 
zards,  as  padrones  and  political  bosses. 

As  in  a  dream,  Jim  stared  down  at  the  rapt  silent 
faces.  Close  above  him  three  half-naked  men 
leaned  from  a  loft,  fiercely  working  the  strings  and 
rods  that  made  brave  knights  swagger  and  clash 
swords,  or  gay  ladies  bow  and  applaud.  What 
magnificent  muscles  jumped  and  quivered  in  the 
arms  and  chests  and  shoulders  of  these  three  naked 
men  I  How  deep  and  rich  was  the  voice  of  the  old 


' 

;.,i<r-r>-- 


^.38*  '(, 


'ft 


A  SHADOW  OVER  HER  DREAM   93 

white-haired  Italian  who  stood  behind  the  opposite 
wing  and  recited  all  those  musical  flowing  speeches 

in  verse,  all  learned  by  heart  from  the  libretto — 

and  different  verses  each  night!     What  a  voice! 
What  a  dream ! 

"I  been  here,"  Joe  whispered. 

At  midnight,  when  all  had  gone,  Jim  saw  the  old 
Italian  smile  kindly  at  Joe  and  nod  assent,  and  the 
one  gaslight  over  the  piano  was  left  flaring. 

Joe  sat  down  and  crashed  out  a  few  chords. 

"Now  sing !"  he  cried. 

Jim  thought  of  Fritz  and  hesitated. 

"It's  too  soon,"  he  said.  "And  if  I  once  begin 
I  can't  ever  stop." 

Joe  shrugged  his  enormous  shoulders. 

"You  save  de  voice  too  much !"  he  growled. 

He  told  how  he  had  worked  night  after  night 
for  two  years  at  this  same  piano,  and  what  won 
derful  chords  the  old  Italian  had  taught  him. 

"I  look  here  at  de  Roland,  I  hear  de  old  man's 
voice,  I  watch  de  peoples  listen,  I  feel,  I  feel  so 
hard  it  go  now  in  my  music.  For  you — I  learn  all 
for  you.  Sing!  You  save  de  voice  to  hell !  Sing!" 

And  Jim  climbed  up  on  the  little  low  stage  and 
sang. 

How  different  from  the  first  night  of  their  dream 


94      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

six  years  ago.  Men  now — one  tall,  clean,  strong 
and  matured  by  hard  out-of-door  work;  the  other 
burly,  shaggy,  foul.  But  what  true  fire  of  music 
was  in  those  coarse  crashing  chords ! 

Jim's  voice  came  out,  rough  and  new  and  uncer 
tain,  but  now  and  then  so  rich  that  Joe  stopped 
playing  and  stared  off  into  the  darkness,  as  though 
seeing  radiant  pictures,  until  Jim  finished. 

"Say!"  Joe's  voice  was  low  and  shook  a  little. 
"We  been  togedder  long  time.  You  sing — I  play. 
You  wanta  me — keep  on — now — -wid  you  ?f> 

Jim  jumped  down  and  gripped  both  Joe's  hands. 
And  that  settled  it.  Joe  shook  all  over  and  then 
grew  wild  and  fierce  as  of  old  and  cried: 

"Come  on,  sing!     We  singa  all  de  night!" 

But  Jim  was  not  all  the  old  Jim.  He  refused. 
Joe  swore,  and  then  admitted  Jim  was  right  and 
left  him  and  went  off  and  drank  himself  deep  down 
into  dark  grimy  visions  of  beauty. 

There  came  other  nights.  But  in  between  came 
home  evenings  with  Gretchen,  and  at  last  Jim  told 
her.  They  had  a  long  talk  with  Fritz,  and  the  end 
of  it  was  that  Jim  promised  to  stop  singing  for  the 
present. 

Gretchen  had  long  thinking  spells  which  resulted 
in  a  deep  curiosity  to  see  this  Joe. 


A  SHADOW  OVER  HER  DREAM   95 

For  some  time  Jim  objected,  feeling  that  here 
was  the  one  and  only  thing  that  could  ever  make 
trouble.  But  of  course  he  gave  in. 

And  when  Joe  came,  Gretchen  liked  him.  She 
pitied  him  for  being  so  coarse  and  big  and  dirty, 
she  read  at  once  the  devotion  for  Jim  in  his  eyes, 
and  she  took  him  into  her  world  as  she  would  have 
taken  a  clumsy  Newfoundland  dog.  She  asked  him 
many  questions  about  the  old  life,  most  of  them 
about  Jim,  but  a  few  about  Joe  himself — half  fear- 

-ftrhquestions,  as  though  she  rememberedjjomcthing 

which  fascinated  and  yet  frightened  her;  questions 
about  the  "Rip"  and  the  jovial  proprietor. 

But  Joe  flamed  up  only  a  very  little,  and  even 
this  he  fought  down  as  though  he  too  were  afraid 
of  something;  he  grew  more  afraid  and  silent  when 
she  asked  him  how  he  earned  his  living.  He  made 
only  short  low  answers,  which  she  vaguely  felt  were 
lies. 

And  yet  she  liked  him,  and  Joe  began  to  come 
often. 

To  her  Joe  embodied  the  last  of  Jim's  old  street 
life,  dark  and  foul  and  mysterious,  but  now  dumb 
and  powerless  to  harm.  This  last  black  shadow 
creeping  out  of  the  past  only  brightened  by  vivid 
contrast  the  future. 


96      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

For  as  Gretchen  sewed  she  was  making  the  most 
minute  careful  plans  for  Jim's  voice. 

Of  these  plans,  Miss  Louise  was  always  the 
bright  gracious  angel. 

All  through  the  summer,  for  two  days  and  a 
night  each  week,  Gretchen  went  out  to  sew  at  the 
big  summer  home  of  Miss  Louise's  father.  It  was 
set  high  on  a  rocky  hill  over  the  Sound — a  wonder 
ful  place  for  dreaming. 

The  huge  old  trees  with  low  branches,  the  vel 
vety  lawn  below,  the  meadows  behind,  the  barns 
and  the  dairy,  the  cows  and  chickens  and  hounds; 
in  the  house  the  rich  low  rooms  and  halls,  the  old 
carved  chairs,  the  dark  portraits,  the  gold  and  the 
silver;  and  then  the  night,  with  the  birds  drowsily 
peeping  just  outside  her  window,  the  tide  rippling 
and  lapping  far  below,  the  old  frogs  croaking  in 
the  inlet,  the  katydids,  the  tiny  lamps  of  the  fire 
flies;  and  high  over  all  the  twinkling  silent  old 
stars. 

Here  she  sewed  and  planned  and  dreamed  of  Jim 
and  his  voice,  and  of  Miss  Louise — who  could  raise 
him  up  and  make  him  famous! 

Back  at  home  she  kept  these  wonderful  plans  all 
secret.  But  the  beauties  of  stars  and  flowers  and 
waves,  and  the  fabulous  treasures  of  the  house — 


A  SHADOW  OVER  HER  DREAM  97 

all  these  she  described  often  to  Fritz  and  Jim— and 
to  Joe  too  because  she  pitied  him. 

At  such  times,  as  Joe  listened,  his  swarthy  face 
showed  a  strange  hesitation,  a  deep  fierce  struggle 
within.  Often  he  broke  away  while  she  talked  and 
went  out,  slamming  the  door. 

But  again  he  would  listen  eagerly  and  would  ask 

the  strangest  questions. 

************* 

At  last,  sewing  with  Miss  Louise  out  under  the 
big  trees  one  lazy  day  in  September,  Gretchen  spoke 
again  of  Jim;  and  then  as  Miss  Louise  grew  inter 
ested  and  tactfully  drew  her  on,  she  eagerly  told  it 
all — her  old  terror  of  the  street,  how  its  hold  on 
Jim  had  slowly  weakened  and  how  hard  he  had 
worked  in  the  stables  to  save  up  money  for  lessons. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  timidly,  "a  voice  needs 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  lessons  before  it  can  sing 
in  the  opera/' 

Miss  Louise  gave  a  quick  laugh — which  stopped 
short  as  she  saw  the  alarm  in  Gretchen's  round 
serious  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  gently.  "But  what  are  thou 
sands  of  lessons  when  at  last  you  can  sing  like 
that?" 

She  looked  at  Gretchen  thoughtfully. 


98      THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

'Tour  good  old  father,"  she  said  at  last,  "does 
he  think  Jim's  voice  is  so  fine?" 

Gretchen  dropped  her  sewing. 

"So  fine !"  she  cried.  "He  thinks  that  if  the  man's 
voice  will  only  be  splendid  as  the  boy's  voice  was — 
then  it  must  go  up — 'way,  'way  up  I  And  daddy — 
he  knows.  He  said  just  the  same  thing  of  a  voice 
twelve  years  ago;  he  saved  it  out  of  the  Bowery- 
saloons  and  trained  it  a  little  and  sent  it  home  to 
Berlin — and  now  it  is  famous — famous  all  over 
Germany  1" 

"How  exciting!'1 

Miss  Louise  leaned  forward  and  her  brown  eyes 
sparkled. 

"You  must  bring  Jim  to  me,"  she  added,  "and 

then  we'll— oh,  we'll  do  everything  for  him!" 
************* 

Long  after  midnight  Gretchen  still  leaned  from 
her  window,  watching  the  stars  that  were  silent — 
like  Jim's  future. 

Silent — but  when  so  dazzling  as  now? 
************* 

A  sudden  growl,  a  scuffle.  One  of  the  big 
hounds  had  leaped  from  his  kennel -and  was  growl 
ing  furiously. 

Directly  below  Gretchen's  window  a  tiny  light 


A  SHADOW  OVER  HER  DREAM  99 

flashed  and  went  out.  She  heard  quick  steps,  and 
a  short  black  mass  of  something  shot  off  into  the 
shadows  down  toward  the  beach. 

Gretchen  leaned  far  out — rigid,  breathless,  lis 
tening. 

The  big  hound  was  slowly  circling  the  house,  his 
head  'way  down,  uttering  from  time  to  time  a  wild 
low  whine.  The  night  gave  it  a  peculiar  terror. 
Round  and  round  it  went — pitiless,  eager,  blind — 
like  vengeance  that  never  is  slaked. 

Gretchen  stared,  as  in  a  spell,  long  after  the 
whines  had  died  down.  Then  she  crept  back  into 
bed — trembling,  her  dream  blackened  by  a  creep 
ing  shadow  of  something. 

She  sat  up  in  the  darkness. 

"What  is  coming?'*  she  whispered. 


c 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  STREET  REACHES  UP 

THREE  nights  later  Gretchen  was  back  in 
the  little  old  room,  sewing  by  the  fire, 
while  Fritz  sat  polishing  the  back  of  his 
fiddle.  Jim  was  still  away  at  his  work.  The  night 
was  black  and  thick — swept  by  the  gusts  of  an 
equinoctial  gale. 

The  door  burst  open. 

Dago  Joe — dripping  wet,  white-faced  and  sav 
age,  glared  in  out  of  the  dark.  His  chest  was 
heaving. 

"Go!"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "Go  quick  I  De 
Tombs !  Jim — in  de  Tombs  I" 

Fritz  rose,  very  slowly. 

Joe  seized  the  old  man's  quivering  arm. 

"Listen!" 

His  voice  sank  to  a  low  thick  whisper: 

"You  an'  her — you  don't  be  scare!  Jim  can 
prove  he  was  not  there !  He  safe  I  You  don't  be 


scare!", 


100 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP.      101 

He  turned  and  went  quickly  out. 

The  door  slammed. 

Old  Fritz  stood  still  motionless,  listening  to  the 
gusts  of  wind  and  rain  on  the  windows.  He  seemed 
hardly  to  breathe. 

"Come,  daddy,  come.*1     Gretchen's  voice  was 

quiet. 

************* 

Two  days  afterward,  early  in  the  morning,  she 
sat  leaning  forward,  her  sewing  in  her  lap,  staring 
into  the  fire.  The  confusion  and  shame  and  fear 
were  all  gone.  She  could  think  clearly. 

Miss  Louise's  big  country  house  had  been  rob 
bed.  Jim  had  been  suspected,  and  for  two  days 
and  a  night  he  had  been  in  jail.  Then  it  had  been 
proved  by  the  boss  of  the  stables  that  Jim  had  been 
jhere  until  ten  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  burglary. 
Old  Fritz  and  Gretchen  had  proved  he  had  reached 
home  at  half-past  ten  and  had  been  there  all  night; 
in  this  they  were  supported  by  the  housekeeper  and 
other  tenants;  and  later  came  other  friends  of  Jim 
to  show  just  where  he  had  been  for  two  days  before 
the  burglary.  The  alibi  was  complete.  It  seemed 
almost  as  though  some  one  had  planned  it  ahead. 

But  most  of  all,  innocent  old  Fritz  and  Gretchen 
had  talked  in  a  way  that  at  last  convinced  even  the 


102     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

detectives.  And  when  the  real  criminals  were 
caught  and  it  was  found  that  Jim  had  never  known 
them,  then  at  last  he  had  been  released,  and  now 
he  was  back  at  his  work  in  the  stables. 

And  Gretchen  sat  thinking. 

She  felt  it  now  with  a  sharp  thrill  of  pain.  Joe's 
wild  wet  savage  face,  the  defiance  and  despair  in 
his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  then  the  Tombs  and  the 
long  dark  rows  of  cells — all  this,  in  the  strain  of 
the  moment,  she  had  barely  seen;  her  only  thought 
had  been  to  tell  all  the  truth  about  Jim  to  save 
him.  But  now  when  it  was  over  she  saw  it  .all 
vividly. 

The  black  shadow  of  the  street  creeping  up  again 
over  his  life.  Only  for  a  moment.  But  would  it 
come  again? 

She  drew  a  quivering  breath  and  took  up  her 
sewing.  She  looked  at  it  a  moment,  then  it  dropped 
to  the  floor. 

The  sewing  was  for  Miss  Louise.  Miss  Louise 
had  suspected  Jim  of  being  a  thief!  She  had  told 
the  detectives  how  well  Gretchen  knew  the  house 
and  how  badly  Jim  needed  money.  She  had  told 
them  how  innocent  Gretchen  must  be,  but  how  Jim 
had  been  bred  in  the  street,  how  he  might  have  lis 
tened  to  Gretchen's  accounts  and  yielded  and  put 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP.      103 

his  old  gang  on  the  scent.  She  had  told  them  that 
and  had  let  Jim  stay  two  days  in  jaill 

Gretchen  gave  a  sudden  bitter  laugh  and  sprang 
up,  and  then  sank  down,  with  her  head  in  her 
hands,  sobbing.  The  sobs  grew  more  and  more  vio 
lent,  but  at  last  they  died  away,  and  again,  with 
her  chin  11  her  hands,  she  leaned  over  gazing  into 
the  coals. 

How  much  older  she  looked,  and  how  quiet. 

No  more  work  for  Miss  Louise.  No  more 
eager  talks.  No  more  dazzling  dreams  in  the  star 
light. 

Gretchen  rose,  put  on  her  hat  and  cloak,  and 

went  out. 

************* 

She  must  have  other  work  at  once,  for  Fritz 
was  earning  now  but  a  few  dollars  a  week. 

She  applied  at  a  score  of  places  in  vain ;  her  con 
fidence  and  her  new  oldness  began  to  leave  her;  she 
felt  weak  and  frightened,  but  all  this  she  kept  to 
herself. 

In  the  evenings  she  tried  to  laugh  and  talk  and 
play  to  old  Fritz's  fiddle.  All  night  she  lay  toss 
ing  and  planning  the  next  day's  search. 

And  then,  three  weeks  later,  after  walking  all 
afternoon  from  shop  to  shop  through  a  cold  Oc- 


io4     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

tober  rain,  at  night  she  had  shooting  pains  in  her 
chest;  in  alarm  old  Fritz  called  a  doctor;  and  the 
doctor  pronounced  it  pneumonia. 

Fritz's  fright  was  pitiful.  Although  he  had  only 
sixty  dollars  saved,  he  would  have  none  of  the  free 
infirmary  doctor,  but  got  the  very  best  one  he  could 
find;  and  went  on  and  bought  every  medicine  the 
doctor  could  think  of.  Not  only  that,  but  when 
the  doctor  proposed  a  hospital,  Fritz  listened  to 
Gretchen  who  begged  him  to  keep  her  at  home, 
and  he  spent  more  money  to  make  a  hospital  out 
of  the  sitting-room. 

So  his  money  was  gone  in  a  wedc^when  Gretchen" 
was  just  in  the  crisis. 

He  mortgaged  the  piano,  but  that  money  lasted 
only  three  days;  he  borrowed  all  that  Jim  had,  but 
in  a  week  this  too  was  almost  gone.  And  then 
Fritz  began  speaking  of  pawning  his  fiddle. 

Late  that  night,  having  made  old  Fritz  go  to 
bed,  Jim  sat  watching  Gretchen.  For  two  weeks 
he  had  left  his»  stable  work  and  had  watched  her 
with  hardly  a.  break.  Now  the  pain  and  delirium 
were  gone.  She  lay  haggard  and  white,  with  her 
eyes  closed. 

Jim  kept  looking  at  the  fiddle. 

Each  time  he  looked,  his  face  grew  more  tense, 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP       105 

his  eyes  more  bright.  At  last  he  rose  noiselessly, 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  took  the  fiddle  out  and  left 
it  on  the  landing.  He  came  back  and  wakened 
Fritz  to  watch  in  his  place,  and  then  with  a  hastily 

muttered  excuse  he  hurried  away. 

************* 

The  next  evening  Gretchen  roused  with  a  stait. 

Old  Fritz,  his  face  white,  stood  staring  at  Jim 
and  gripping  him  by  the  arm. 

Jim  seemed  to  notice  nothing.  His  eyes  flashed 
with  a  light  she  had  never  seen  before,  and  his  voice 
was  low  but  fast  and  shaking,  as  though  his  nerves 
were  all  running  awayr- 

"I  tell  you  I  only  borrowed  your  fiddle!"  he 
cried  again  and  again.  "You  were  going  to  pawn 
it  anyhow !" 

Gretchen  was  wide  awake  now. 

"What  good  to  her — your  thirty-one  dollars? 
We  needed  three  hundred  to  save  her!  So  I  went 
to  the  Skinner — and  the  Skinner  he  knew — knew 
the  horse,  I  tell  you — knew  how  the  race  had  been 
fixed — and  'Leading  Lady'  was  booked  sure  to 
win  !  Well — then  I  lost  my  nerve — it  was  Gretch- 
en's  life — but  the  Skinner  he  made  me!  I  put  it 
all  up  on  'Leading  Lady'  at  ten  to  one — thirty-one 
dollars  to  lose — three  hundred  and  ten  to  win !" 


io6     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Now  he  was  crouching  down,  red  and  unreal  in 
the  dull  glow  from  the  fire,  hands  clinched  before 
him,  breath  quick  and  hard,  eyes  dilated — blazing. 
Lucky  Jim  the  Gambler! 

"The  horses  got  off  the  first  start — 'Leading 
Lady'  behind  on  the  inside — I  swore  at  her  jockey 
— he  rode  like  a  fool — the  Skinner  just  laughed— 
there  she  was — the  second  time  around — two 
lengths  behind!  Two  lengths — you  don't  know 
what  it  means!  My  head  got  red  i.iside — I  felt 
the  Skinner  grab  my  head!  'Look!'  he  yelled. 
'Look  at  her!  Look!'  And  I — saw  her  come! 
Down  the  home-stretch — one  length  behind !  Come 
on — come  on — come  on  !  We  jumped  up  on  the 
bench!  Half  a  length — a  quarter — a  neck — a 
nose!  They  were  by!  The  Skinner  grabbed  me! 
Held  me  'way  over  his  head!  I  looked — and 
'Leading  Lady' — had  won! — won!  And  Gret- 
chen " 

His  glance  met  hers. 

She  closed  her  eyes  quickly;  she  heard  him  spring 
toward  her — and  shuddered.  She  heard  Fritz  stop 
him;  she  looked  up  again  and  Fritz  was  holding 
him  back;  Jim  was  leaning  toward  her,  and  his 
eyes — his  eyes!  She  shut  hers  again  and  drifted 
up,  faint  and  giddy  and  throbbing. 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP      107 

"Jimmy!" 

Fritz's  old  voice  was  so  stern  and  harsh  that  she 
stopped  in  her  dream  and  listened.  It  sounded  far 
below. 

"Jimmy!"  Now  she  was  drifting  down  toward 
it. 

"Jimmy!"  She  looked  and  saw  Fritz  holding 
Jim's  eyes  with  his.  And  the  gaze  of  old  Fritz  was 
terribly  real,  so  real  she  could  see  Jim  too  come 
out  of  his  dream  and  back  to  her  life,  his  eyes  soft 
ening  with  shame,  his  muscles  slowly  relaxing. 
How  weak  and  shaken  he  looked ! 

"Not  to-night!  You  are  not — enough  clean — 
even  to  take  her  hand — to-night!" 

At  this  she  suddenly  reached  out  her  hand,  and 
before  Fritz  could  stop  him  Jim  had  seized  it — 
but  he  dropped  it  and  turned  away. 

Fritz  stood  between  them — bending  close  to  her 
pillow. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  whisper  in  his 
ear.  Slowly  Fritz  turned  and  she  heard  him  whis 
per  to  Jim. 

"Go — she  wishes — und  vc  dare  not  hurt  her. 
Go!" 

A  long  silence. 

"Jimmy,"  she  whispered. 


io8     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

In  a  moment  he  was  bending  over,  and  his  eyes, 
so  suddenly  changed,  told  her  all  his  deep  shame 
and  remorse. 

"Never — never  again!     Never  1"  he  whispered. 

************* 

She  had  long  hours  of  deep  delicious  sleep. 

Each  day  she  awoke  feeling  fresher  and 
stronger,  the  tide  of  new  strength  seemed  just  to 
rise  in  her  mind  and  her  heart,  and  go  creeping  out 
all  through  her  limbs,  till  she  wanted  to  rise,  but 
they  wouldn't  let  her, 

Jim  was  so  silent  and  humble.  Vaguely  she  felt 
that  all  the  bad  part  of  Jim  was  a  dream — back  in 
the  nights  of  delirium. 

He  was  away  now  all  day  long.  Was  it  his  old 
stable  work  or  was  it  something  new?  She  heard 
mysterious  whispers  and  chuckles.  What  was  it? 

All  the  day  long  she  lay  thinking.  Old  Fritz  sat 
close  by,  so  anxious,  so  careful  about  every  little 
medicine,  the  fire,  and  all  the  little  delicacies  he  had 
bought.  He  was  so  happy  having  her  all  to  himself; 
he  told  her  so — laughing  strangely;  he  told  her  it 
seemed  like  old  days;  he  talked  of  the  quaint 
carved  house  in  Nuremburg,  of  her  old  games  and 
corners  and  dolls  and  Christmas.  And  to  Gretchen 
it  felt  like  old  nursery  times,  so  quiet  and  peaceful 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP       109 

and  safe ;  just  to  lie  there  and  love  him — and  dream 
of  Jim  and  the  life  ahead. 

"How  much  older  I  am!"  she  kept  thinking. 

As  the  old  man,  with  eyes  shining,  let  his  mem 
ory  ramble  back,  slowly  in  Gretchen's  mind  the 
nursery,  the  dolls,  the  goblins,  the  dreams  and  the 
kisses — all  gathered  around  one  sacred  deep  mys 
terious  thing — motherhood. 

Was  it  only  because  Fritz  loved  his  wife  so  pas 
sionately  that  now  she  rose  smiling  in  all  the  old 
pictures?  Motherhood — can  a  man  feel  all  its  se 
crets?  Can  he  ask  questions  like  those  that 
Gretchen  asked  Fritz?  Foolish  old  Fritz — only 
a  man,  who  thought  he  was  remembering  it  all  by 
himself,  with  only  "mein  baby"  to  help  him.  He 
never  dreamed  how  he  was  just  being  led  along  by 
Gretchen's  questions,  to  help  her  as  she  dreamed 
and  wondered,  not  alone  of  her  mother's  joy  and 
agony  in  love  and  birth  and  babyhood,  not  alone 
of  the  motherhood  that  had  been,  but  of  the  moth 
erhood  that — she  closed  her  eyes  and  drifted  far 
into  the  future;  drifted,  almost  afraid  to  think. 

Fritz  put  it  all  to  music.  As  he  sat  gazing  at 
the  pictures  in  the  coals,  he  began  to  listen  to  the 
past.  Old  simple  melodies,  the  first  he  had  ever 
played ;  harshold  scales  and  exercises  that  had  made 


1 10     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

his  fingers  ache;  a  little  song  he  himself  had  com 
posed  and  the  great  Schubert  had  praised;  the 
voices  of  old  comrades;  jolly  evenings  in  gardens, 
with  the  good  beer  foaming  high  and  the  big  band 
making  the  whole  world  rock  and  swing  to  Strauss 
waltzes;  then  glorious  concerts  and  operas,  his  own 
small  triumphs,  his  hopes  and  ambitions — and 
through  it  all  his  wife's  voice,  forever  hoping  and 
lifting  and  loving. 

"Ach!"  he  whispered,  "dose  songs  ve  togedder 
heard !  Dose  songs — dose  songs." 

And  then  he  would  take  out  his  fiddle  and  hug 
it  so  close  and  play  and  play. 

She  felt  hungry  for  her  mother  now.  Such  a 
deep  new  kind  of  hunger.  She  glanced  at  the  old 
fiddle  and  grew  cold  as  she  thought  what  Jim  had 
done.  Oh,  but  that  was  gone !  And  what  a  rich 
wonderful  life  was  coming ! 

The  beautiful  quiet  old  songs  still  came  from 
the  fiddle  of  Fritz.  But  how  young  deep-swelling 
leaping  and  thrilling  with  eternal  life  of  love, 
would  be  the  voice  of  Jim  when  it  came ! 

"How  much  older."  As  her  strength  grew 
slowly,  by  days  and  nights  and  weeks,  there  was  less 
dreaming  and  drifting,  more  quiet  steady  thinking. 
In  the  evenings  when  Jim  sat  by  her,  talking  low 


THE  STREET  REACHES  UP      in 

into  the  fire,  even  then  she  was  thinking  sometimes 
so  hard  that  she  caught  only  snatches  of  what  he 
was  saying.  How  much  older  and  steadier  he 
seemed,  what  children  they  had  been  before  this. 
And  now  both  were  nineteen. 

Would  Jim's  voice  never  come? 

Weeks  ago  he  had  told  her  he  was  back  at  work 
in  the  stable,  but  as  he  laughed,  describing  how 
glad  the  old  race  horse  had  been  to  see  him,  some 
how  Gretchen  had  caught  something  queer  in  his 
voice,  and  the  stronger  she  grew  the  more  she  no 
ticed.  A  delicious  curiosity  stole  into  her  thinking, 
until  slowly,  little  by  little,  she  guessed  the  secret, 
and  then  she  lay  back  and  laughed  to  herself. 

She  asked  quick  unexpected  questions,  which 
startled  Jim  and  Fritz.  Stupid  male  creatures — 
they  gave  answers  before  they  knew  it,  and  then 
how  sheepish  they  looked  ! 

"Veil,"  cried  old  Fritz  one  night,  guilelessly  rub 
bing  his  hands,  "Christmas  day  ees  almost  here 

alreatty!" 

************* 

• 

Christmas  at  dawn  she  opened  wide  her  eyes  and 
saw  the  sunshine  pouring  through  the  soft  white 
curtains  of  her  bedroom  window,  pouring  clear  and 
warm  and  rich  and  dazzling  new. 


1 1 2     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  S  TREE  T 

Like  the  voice  from  the  other  room !  Crude  and 
young,  now  rough  and  stumbling,  but  pouring  right 
on,  clearing  away  all  its  own  troubles  and  hers — 
warm  and  rich  and  dazzling  new !  It  sang  only  to 
her!  Love  filled  the  whole  voice,  made  it  leap  and 
burn  and  then  grow  suddenly  soft  and  caressing — 
and  so  it  would  be  forever ! 

The  song  had  ceased.  She  lay  half  fainting  with 
joy  in  the  silence.  She  heard  Jim's  quick  step  to 
ward  her  door. 

Why  did  he  stop?  A  long  breathless  silence. 
Low  voices.  His  footsteps  swift  and  angry.  The 
outer  door  slammed. 

And  an  uncertain  fear  stole  into  the  joy  of 
Gretchen. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"NO  OTHER  WAY" 

AS  Jim  sprang  toward  her  door  that  Christ 
mas  morning,  old  Fritz's  hand  closed  hard 
on  Jim's  shoulder. 

"Not  so  soon  !"  he  whispered.  "Are  you  so  fine? 
So  pure?  So  safe?  No,  don't  turn  avay!  Look 
at  me!  So — sh-h-h! — she  must  not  hear.  Are 
you  so  fine— so  pure — so  safe?  Mein  baby  ees 
mine!  mine!  You  hear  me?  Mine!  Not  so 
soon !" 

Jim  turned  abruptly  and  went  out. 

Fritz  stood  staring  at  Gretchen's  door,  listening. 
Slowly  his  face  relaxed  and  his  shoulders  drooped 
forward. 

He  looked  at  his  fiddle  and  went  to  it  quickly, 
took  it  out  and  bent  slightly  toward  her  door,  look 
ing  just  as  though  he  were  going  to  speak. 

The  song  began.  But  the  bow  trembled,  the 
sound  was  rough  and  weak,  and  in  an  instant  the 
fiddle  was  down — clenched  in  his  hand.  For  Jim's 

113 


1 14     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

song  had  been  so  gloriously  young  and  strong! 
Old  Fritz  sank  into  a  chair,  with  the  fiddle  on  his 
knees  and  his  white  head  far  down  in  his  hands — 
shaking. 

"How  old — how  old  alreatty  I  ami" 

An  hour  later  Jim  stood  in  the  doorway. 

Fritz  rose  quickly. 

"Don't!"  he  whispered.  Don't  say  it  here! 
Come!" 

They  went  out  together. 

It  was  a  long  walk — at  first  fast,  like  Jim's  fierce 
questioning,  but  then  slower,  as  the  old  German 
held  Jim's  arm  and  talked. 

"Yes  you  love  Gretchen — yes !  Und  now  I  know 
so  quick  that  Gretchen — she  loves  you  !" 

"Well?"  cried  Jim,  eagerly. 

"But  Gretchen — why  Jimmy,  she  ees  alreatty 

• 

so  young.  Und  her  love  for  you  ees  so  young,  so 
fresh,  so  big  in  de  heart,  so  little  in  de  head.  How 
can  she  know  for  all  her  life?  How  long  ees  life, 
how  short  und  sweet  in  places!  So  many  places, 
Jimmy;  in  some  de  music  plays  so  quick  und  fine, 
in  some  so  heavy — so  slow.  So  many  places  ahead, 
und  for  Gretchen  I  vant  all  de  music — quick  und 
fine!  Und  you — are  you  old?  Why  Jimmy  vot 
ees  old  about  you?" 


"NO  OTHER  WAY"  115 

Jim  glanced  up,  and  then  walked  on  a  moment 
in  silence.  He  spoke  slowly: 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  old.  I  tell 
you  I  feel  a  whole  lot  older." 

"Yes,"  said  Fritz,  eagerly,  "you  feel  old,  but  so 
you  feel  shoost  because  you  are  young.  Ven  you 
get  really  old  den  neffer  you  feel  such  a  oldness. 
Only  now  you  feel  it — old  und  strong  und  safe  und 
wise!" 

He  turned  smiling  and  held  Jim's  eyes  with 
his. 

"But  Jimmy  vot  are  you?  Shoost  a  big  glad 
Htreauty^song.  Your  heart — dot  ees  you.  You  feel, 
und  now  you  feel  so  true.  But  how  vill  you  feel  to 
her  for  all  your  life  ahead?  Ach !  Don't  smile! 
Und  Gretchen,  how  vill  she  feel  for  you?  Vait! 
Don't  turn  avay!  I  mean — for  you — if  you 
change,  if  again  you  be  as  you  were  on  de  street.' 

"What  do  you  mean?"    Jim's  voice  was  sharp 

Fritz  looked  back  steadily. 

"Jimmy,  now  you  are  fine,  you  are  pure,  you  are 
safe.  But  vot  haf  you  behind?  Look  back  Jimmy 
look  back.  Would  she  love  you  if  she  saw  all  vot 
you  did  on  de  street?  Maybe  so.  But  would  she 
love  you  if  she  saw  you  do  all  dose  t'ings  once  more 
again?  If  she  saw  you  take  mein  fiddle — take  her 


1 1 6     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

life — und  gamble  it  in  de  race  mit  liorses.  Ach! 
Now  you  see!1' 

Jim  had  stopped  short  and  stood  staring  into 
Fritz's  eyes. 

"Jimmy,"  said  the  old  man,  gently,  "I  love  you 
like  mein  son.  I  vant  you  happy.  But  I  vant  mein 
baby — so  pure  und  safe  und  happy  too — for  all 
her  life  ahead.  How  can  she  know?  How  can 
yon  know?  You  must  vait,  you  must  show  how 
strong  you  are.  Jimmy  you  must  fight  down  dot 
gamble!" 

Jim  was  silent. 

He  walked  on  and  on  alone  through  the  streets 
all  day. 

In  the  evening,  when  he  came  back  and  was  met 
by  Fritz  on  the  landing,  Jim  was  still  silent. 

Before  Gretchen  that  night  he  was  as  he  had 
been,  except  when  he  sang.  And  then  the  whole 
song  was  a  struggle. 

He  finished  and  stood  looking  intently  down  at 
his  music. 

Gretchen  lay  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  she 
looked  up,  her  eyes  wet  but  very  bright,  smiling. 

"Jimmy,  it's  wonderful!  Who  has  helped  you?" 

Jim  started  slightly,  still  looking  at  the  music. 
Then  his  eyes  met  hers  and  he  answered,  slowly: 


OTHER  WAV  117 

"The  teacher  your  father  sent  me  to.  I  went 
and  sang  for  him." 

Gretchen  sat  up  excitedly. 

"What  did  he  say?1' 

Jim  looked  at  her  a  moment. 

"He  said  I  had  possibilities." 

She  sank  back.    How  different  from  her  dreams. 

"But  he  has  lots  of  men  with  possibilities,"  said 
Jim.  "He  said  he  could  crowd  me  in  three  times  a 
week.  He  knew  I  was  broke,  so  he  said  he  would 
cut  his  price  in  two  and  make  it  only  two  dollars  a 
lesson.  I  had  a  little  money  left  from  that  horse 
race,  the  part  your  father  wouldn't  borrow.  So  I 
used  it,  part  on  lessons  and  part  to  pay  my  share 
here.  When  that  was  nearly  gone,  the  Skinner 
went  and  saw  the  proprietor  of  the  'Rip.'  I  knew 
nothing  about  it  till  the  Skinner  brought  me  an 
offer." 

"The 'Rip  P"  she  whispered. 

"What  could  I  do  but  try  it?"  asked  Jim.  "I 
couldn't  stop  the  lessons.  They  do  me  more  good 
than  the  'Rip'  does  harm.  I  tell  you  I'm  not  like  I 
used  to  be.  I'm  older.  And  I  know  now  just  what 
I'm  doing.  I'm  not  burning  up  my  voice." 

He  stopped  a  moment  and  then  went  on  slowly: 

"That  was  a  month  ago.    I  went  to  the  man  at 


1 1 8     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

the  'Rip*  and  we  had  a  long  talk.  He  was  might 
sorry  about  the  way  my  voice  broke  that  time  thre 
years  ago.  You  don't  believe  it?  Then  listen.  H 
said  he  was  sorry  because  he  lost  money  when 
went.  Don't  that  sound  all  right?  And  why  di< 
my  voice  break?  Whose  fault  was  it?  Not  min 
or  his  or  anybody's.  My  voice  broke  just  becaus 
it  got  ready  to  change,  that's  all.  That's  what  h 
says,  and  he's  right.  And  now — why  now  as  hi 
says,  there  isn't  any  change  to  be  afraid  of.  Don.' 
you  see?" 

Gretchen's  eyes  grew  more  and  more  doubtfu 
and  anxious. 

"Jimmy  is  too  honest!"  she  was  thinking. 

"So  he's  mighty  glad  to  get  me  back !"  cried  Jim 
"He  laughed  and  said,  4You're  a  safe  investment! 
That's  open  enough,  isn't  it?  Just  plain  business 
But  he  likes  me  besides;  he  likes  to  see  me  an'  Jot 
back." 

"Joe?" 

"Why  yes,"  said  Jim  simply.  And  then,  aftei 
a  pause:  "What  do  we  know  for  sure  about  Joe  i 
Is  he  bad  or  good?  If  he's  doin*  anything  bad 
does  it  hurt  him  to  play  for  me  while  I  sing?  Isn'l 
it  a  good  thing  to  keep  him  straight?  But  Joe — 
well  Joe's  queer.  He  goes  all  by  ups  and  downs, 


'WO  OTHER  WAT*  119 

Two  nights  ago  he  scowled  like  a  black  devil  every 
time  he  saw  the  proprietor,  but  last  night  he  kept 
looking  at  the  man  and  Joe  seemed  kind  of  mesmer 
ized.  He  looked  so  queer  we  all  got  joking  him 
about  it — the  proprietor  joked  most  of  all.  He 
didn't  like  Joe  at  first,  didn't  want  to  take  him  back 
till  he  heard  Joe  play.  Joe  has  some  chords  now 
that  are  wonders — mighty  rough  and  awful  sad, 
like  Joe  himself.  The  proprietor  was  tickled  to 
death.  He  said  those  chords  made  a  stunning  set- 
off  for  my  songs.  My  songs  are  all  the  glad  kind 


now." 


Again  Jim's  eyes  had  the  same  old  dancing 
look. 

"How  did  you  fix  the  money  part?"  asked 
Gretchen.  "Not  in  the  same  old  way?" 

"Well  not  at  first,"  said  Jim  slowly.  "But  since 
then  I've  kind  of  changed  things." 

"Oh— Jimmy!" 

"Now  listen  to  this."  Jim  leaned  forward. 
"Understand  I  don't  say  the  man  is  square.  But 
how  could  he  have  talked  squarer  here? — Listen. 
I  told  him  at  first  I  wouldn't  sing  unless  he  put  me 
on  a  salary  by  the  week.  'All  right,'  he  said,  *do 
exactly  as  you  please.'  So  I  did.  And  he  gave  me 
ten  dollars." 


120     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Why,"  cried  Gretchen,  "that's  only  half  what 
you  got  before  1" 

Jim  looked  down. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  slowly,  "a  man's  voice 
doesn't  make  as  big  a  hit  as  a  good  boy  soprano;  it 
doesn't  bring  as  many  encores — and  anyway  I  can't 
grin  at  the  ladies  the  way  I  used  to.  I'm  too  old — 
and — well,  I'm  not  like  the  Hungarians — -I  can't 
do  it." 

"I  hope  you  can't!"  cried  Gretchen,  sternly. 

"Well — but  don't  blame  him.  He  pays  me  all 
I'm  worth.  I  said  I  would  only  sing  twice  a  night 
— that's  not  much.  You  see  I  was  bound  not  to 
hurt  my  voice.  So  I  went  on  for  about  a  month, 
and  he  never  said  a  word.  Then  I  went  to  him  and 
told  him  how  I  was  fixed.  I  needed  six  dollars  a 
week  for  my  lessons,  that  left  me  only  four  to  live 
on.  He  said  he  was  sorry  but  he  couldn't  pay  me 
more  than  the  'market  price.1  Then  I  asked  him  to 
let  me  sing  three  songs  a  night  for  twelve  dollars 
a  week. 

"  4A11  right,1  he  said.  So  I  tried  it  for  a  week. 
But  it  was  bad;  I'll  tell  you  why.  Some  nights  the 
'Rip'  is  packed  full,  and  some  nights  it's  empty  and 
dull.  On  the  big  nights,  if  you  do  make  a  hit, 
you've  got  to  be  a  good  fellow  and  sing  when  they 


"NO  OTHER  WAT'  121 

yell  for  you;  so  I  did — often  four  or  five  times. 
Then  I  got  thinking  it  over.  Why  not  get  paid 
for  those  extras  ?  I  went  to  him  again  and  he 
laughed  hard. 

44  'All  right !'  he  said  again.  And  that  settled  it. 
Oh  don't  look  so  anxious !  Please !" 

Jim  leaned  'way  over,  still  holding  her  eyes  with 
his.  She  saw  his  eyes  change ;  she  could  feel  he  was 
keeping  back  something,  something  that  made  him 
suddenly  anxious.  His  voice  was  very  low: 

"I  tell  you  I  must  stay  free  I  I'm  made  that  way. 
If  I  must  sing  in  the  'Rip,'  it's  better  to  be  free  and 
just  get  paid  for  what  I  sing.  But  I  won't  burn  up 
my  voice.  It  won't  run  away  with  me!  And  I'll 
never  gamble  again!  Because — you'll  help  me — 
and  we'll  just  hold  it  in — by  ourselves.  Won't  we?" 

Gretchen  was  gazing  at  him — or  through  him, 

far  into  the  future. 

"Gretchen!  Don't  you  see?  I  must  learn  to 
sing — that's  to  be  my  whole  life — and  to  sing  I 
must  have  lessons — and  for  lessons  I  must  have 
money.  In  the  'Rip'  I'm  up  now  to  fifteen  dollars  a 
week — so  now  I  can  take  five  lessons  instead  of 
three.  Fifteen  dollars!  Where  else  could  I  make 
it?  Don't  you  see?  There's  no  other  way!" 


122     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

"No  other  way/*  How  hard  she  thought  in  the 
next  few  weeks.  Never  had  she  wanted  money  and 
worried  over  it  as  now.  More  and  more  she  felt 
that  Fritz  and  she  in  their  poverty  were  dragging 
Jim  down. 

Once  she  tried  again  to  find  work,  but  Fritz  and 
Jim  were  so  stern  that  she  did  not  try  again.  She 
was  still  weak  and  did  her  best  to  get  strong 
quickly;  she  rested  much  and  took  short  walks,  and 
those  were  times  for  more  thinking. 

She  had  long  quiet  hours  at  home  with  old 
Fritz  between  his  lessons.  She  went  over  it  all 
with  him  so  intensely  she  never  noticed  how  strange 
he  looked,  how  lonely  and  old  sometimes.  He 
had  more  pupils  now  and  was  working  harder.  He 
made  just  enough  to  support  them  both,  but  could 
save  nothing  to  pay  back  Jim  the  money  they  had 
borrowed  in  her  illness. 

"No  other  way."  Jim  went  on  with  his  lessons 
— absorbed  and  eager,  and  began  improving  fast, 
lie  went  on  with  his  nights  in  the  "Rip" — and 
slowly,  little  by  little,  Gretchen  watching  him  anx 
iously,  could  feel  the  effect  on  his  voice. 

Once  more  the  "Rip"  was  fastening.  The  street 
was  coming  in. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
"THE  GLAD  SURE  FEEL" 

THE  street  swaggered  in  behind  a  huge  bou 
quet  of  red  roses.     The  bearer  walked 
past  Jim,  made  a  low  bow  and  presented 
the  roses  to  Gretcheri. 

uTired  of  t'rowing  bouquets  at  meself,"  he  ex 
plained,  "so  I'm  doin*  de  next  best  t'ing." 
Gretchen  looked  completely  bewildered. 
uThis  is  the  Skinner,"  explained  Jim  quickly. 
"Yes,"  remarked  that  individual.     "De  Skin 
ner—of  Wall  Street." 

"Oh,"  said  Gretchen.  The  roses  dropped;  she 
caught  them  and  held  them  heads  down.  Still 
dazed  she  stared  at  the  Skinner. 

What  a  gaudy  red  necktie,  what  a  racy  suit, 
and  padded  shoulders,  a  big  collar,  red  hair  slicked 
down,  and  patent-leather  shoes.  What  a  lean 
square  nervous  face.  What  a  sneer  on  his  lips — 
in  his  eyes.  Did  he  believe  in  anything?  Just  as 
she  had  thought.  What  a  cold  dangerous 

1*3 


i24     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"If  you'll  just  turn  'em  heads  up — they'll  show 
off  better."  The  lips  of  the  demon  smiled.  "You 
see  I  want  'em  in  racing  trim  for  to-night,  for  de 
cafe — where  I'm  going  to  present  'em  with  a 
speech,  'To  Lucky  Jim — de  winner — from  his 
humble  admirin'  boyhood  friends — de  news 
boys!'" 

"Now  look  here  Skinner!"  cried  Jim  leaping 
up  in  alarm,  "don't  be  a " 

"There  he  goes,"  said  the  Skinner,  with  a  pa 
tient  look  at  Gretchen.  "A  genius — that's  what 
he  is — a  genius.  No  business  sense.  If  you 
stuffed  a  million  dollars  down  his  throat  he'd  only 
cough  it  up  and  go  on  singin'.  Why  Lucky  don't 
you  see  how  a  little  trick  like  this  advertises  you? 
You  ought  to  buy  a  big  bouquet  an'  have  it  pre 
sented  to  yourself  every  night.  They  do  it  in  all- 
the  big  shows — Advertising! — But  what's  the  use 
of  talkin'  to  him?" 

Again  he  turned  with  a  grin  to  Gretchen : 

"We've  been  looking  to  you  to  train  him,  and 
that's  why  I  came."  The  shrewd  gray  eyes  grew 
earnest — and  held  Gretchen's.  "To  tell  the  truth 
— which  ain't  my  habit — I  thought  at  first  you'd  be 

a  drag  on  him.     But- "  he  stopped  short  and 

watched  her  in  sudden  surprise.     "Well,"  he  said, 


"THE  GLAD  SURE  FEEL"         125 

slowly,  "I  guess  you  had  sense  enough  to  see  that 
yourself  1" 

"Skinner!"  cried  Jim,  angrily. 

"Hold  on — Genius,1'  said  the  Skinner  loftily. 
"Just  let  me  talk  business  with  your  friend.  She 
knows  an'  I  know — but  you — you're  a  genius. 
Shut  up !  Madam,  you  ain't  a  drag — you  were — 
but  now  you  ain't.  It's  just  on  account  of  you  he's 
beginning  to  think  of  money." 

A  painful  flush  spread  over  Gretchen's  cheeks, 
but  she  still  looked  back,  surprised — completely  off 
her  guard. 

"And  it's  a  good  thing,"  said  the  Skinner  in  con 
fidential  tones — "I  don't  blame  Jim  a  bit." 

"Skinner !"  from  Jim.  The  Skinner  now  noticed 
the  flush  in  both  cheeks.  Me  grew  red  himself — 
;sperately  red. 

"j;m — w;il  you  give  me  a  chance?  Don't  you 
see  I  never  had  any  use  for  women  anyhow?  I'm 
doin'  the  best  I  can  to  get  through  an'  go!  Now 
madam  look  here.  I'm  Jim's  old  friend;  I  ain't 
saying  much,  but  I'm  watching  him  all  the  time." 
Again  the  gray  eyes  grew  earnest.  "An'  I'm  talk 
ing  now  not  for  publication — which  means  I'm 
speaking  the  truth.  Lucky  Jim  was  the  only  little 
kid  I  ever  cared  a  lot  about;  he's  the  only  man  I'd 


126     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

lend  money  to  now — -maybe.  I  hated  you  like 
poison — till  I  saw  you  had  him  an*  there  wasn't  any 
use.  So  now  I  came  here  to  see  you,  an1  I'm  mighty 
glad  I  came.  You've  growed  into  a  woman  that  is 
a  woman.  Drag  on  him?  Not  a  bit.  Don't  you 
fool  yourself  a  minute!  If  it  wasn't  for  you  he'd 
burn  himself  all  up  singing,  gambling,  drinking, 
treating  the  whole  gang.  He  always  did.  He's 
got  it  in  his  blood,  learned  it  in  the  street.  And  it's 
not  a  bad  thing  to  have !  He's  got  to  have  it — 
only  hold  it  in,  that's  all.  And  you  can  help  him 
do  it.  I've  seen  I  was  all  wrong  about  women. 
Look  at  all  the  big  men  on  the  street.  Wives  keep 
'em  out  of  the  little  games,  steady  'em  down,  an' 
make  'em  all  the  better  for  the  big  games  that 
count.  A  wife  is  like  a  jockey  on  a  race  horse. 
Now  listen : 

"Big  games  is  the  kind  for  Lucky  Jim.  He  never 
did  things  by  halves,  and  he  never  will — he  can't. 
He'll  sing  big  or  bust — only  he  won't  bust.  You're 
sure  of  that  every  time  you  hear  him  sing.  It  re 
minds  me  of  a  big  man  on  Wall  Street  who  has  a 
voice  like  the  subway,  and  when  he's  covering  some 
stock  that's  getting  shaky,  he  jest  stands  and  booms 
out,  'U.-S.-Steel-preferred-is-going-up!'  You  can 
hear  that  voice  twenty  feet  off  in  the  howl ;  it  booms 


"THE  GLAD  SURE  FEEL"         127 

steady  and  sure  as  three  o'clock,  and  when  you  hear 
it — you  just  know  that  he's  sure  to  win.  Well — 
that  same  feel  is  in  Jim's  voice — the  glad  sure  feel. 
It'll  take  him  'way  up  into  any  Broadway  show 
from  Weber  an'  Fields  to  the  opera,  because  all  of 
us  feel  it  when  he  sings,  and  we  all  like  the  feel — 
the  feel  of  a  winner.  He'll  draw  packed  houses — 
sure.  All  he  needs  now  is  to  steady  down  an'  watch 
his  chance  an'  grab  it,  let  the  little  chances  go  by 
and  grab  the  big  ones.  Steady  down — that's  it.  An* 
that's  where  you  come  in." 

The  Skinner  stopped  with  a  jerk,  seemed  half 
dazed  at  himself,  watched  Jim  and  Gretchen  stare 
at  him,  and  then  he  grinned  all  over  his  lean 
freckled  face. 

"An'  this  is  where  /  go  out.  Just  kindly  hand 
me  that  bouquet.  I  hate  to  take  'em,  but  I  ain't 
buyin'  more  than  one  bunch  a  day,  an'  I  need  this  in 
my  business;  when  Jim  gets  'em  he'll  bring  'em 
back  to  you,  anyhow. 

"But  just  wait  till  he  gets  singin'  on  Broadway  1 
You'll  have  bouquets  coming  till  you  choke.  In 
your  Fifth  Avenue  palace-— bouquet  annex — flower 
show — continuous  performance — with  me  to  show 
in  the  public!" 

The  Skinner  now  stood  in  the  door,  his  lean 


128     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

freckled  face  all  one  broad  grin,  his  eyes  snapping, 
head  thrown  back;  and  his  voice  rose  in  a  jerky 
monotone  like  a  "barker"  at  a  Coney  Island 
show. 

"Ladies  an'  gents — step  dis  way.  See  Lucky 
Jim — boy  gambler — grabs  his  chances — up  he  goes 
— cafe  winner — grabs  again — busts  his  voice— -life 
tragedy — little  Eva — here  she  comes — save  him 
Eva  ! — up  he  goes — good  little  boy — hard  at  work 
— dreams  of  heaven — going  up — love  at  last — 
grabs  again — husband,  lover — in  one  package — 
on  he  goes — vaudeville  artist — opera  star — keeps 
on  grabbing — steady  Jimmy! — hold  him  Eva! — 
keep  the  gamble — tone  it  down — up  he  goes — an' 
here  he  is! — ladies  an'  gents — right  this  way! 
Lucky  Jim — gambler  —  singer  —  husband — win 
ner!" 

The  Skinner  gave  one  big  wink  at  Jim. 

"That's  advertising." 

He  turned  sharply  to  go  out — and  shoved  the 
roses  right  into  the  face  of  old  Fritz,  who  was  wait 
ing  outside.  The  Skinner  recognized  him  at  once, 
stared  at  him — the  grin  changing  to  a  sneer,  and 
then  he  brushed  quickly  by. 

Old  Fritz  looked  after  him  a  moment,  glanced 
round  at  Jim  and  Gretchen,  and  then  came  in, 


"THE  GLAD  SURE  FEEL"         129 

chuckling.  But  his  chuckles  were  a  little  forced, 
and  so  were  the  laughs  of  Jim  and  Gretchen. 

For  all  three  had  felt  the  street  rush  in — spark 
ling,  wise,  confident,  dazzling!  All  three  had  felt 
it,  but  in  such  different  ways. 

It  had  given  Fritz  a  thrill  of  uneasiness,  which 
grew  as  he  watched  Gretchen  laugh. 

It  had  given  Gretchen  a  deep  rush  of  relief  and 
joy  as  she  saw  a  way  out  ahead.  "Not  a  drag,  but 
just  what  he  needs!" 

It  had  sent  Jim  soaring  far  into  the  future.  The 
hesitation  and  doubt  that  Fritz's  talk  had  im 
planted— -was  now  gone.  He  knew  himself  now, 
knew  what  he  had  been,  what  he  was,  what  he 
wanted  to  be.  Grab  his  chances — yes!  Grab  hard! 

Then  as  they  both  glanced  at  Fritz,  who  took 
off  his  coat  still  chuckling — they  suddenly  remem 
bered  the  gap  between  them.  Both  felt  a  wave  of 
impatience.  The  gap — and  Fritz  was  to  blame. 
How  awkward  it  all  was.  The  flush  was  still  deep 
on  Gretchen's  cheek.  She  looked  at  Fritz.  Dear 
old  daddy — how  slow  and  tired  he  was.  Poor  old 
Fritz. 

The  dusk  deepened.  Over  by  the  piano  Jim  was 
singing  with  Gretchen. 

Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  shadows — making 


i3o     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

the  little  room  seem  suddenly  large  and  mysterious 
— like  the  future  before  them. 

Deeper  and  deeper — till  the  white  head  of  old 
Fritz,  bent  and  listening,  was  only  a  blotch  in  the 

darkness. 

************* 

And  that  night  in  the '"Rip,"  Lucky  Jim  sang 
harder. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  WONDERFUL  DREAMS  OF  TWO 


W 


HAT   a   joyous   five   months   together. 
Months  she  would  remember  long  after 
wards.    Memories  of  Jim : 
************* 

A  dazzling  clear  summer's  night  down  the  bay. 

They  sat  in  their  favorite  corner,  'way  out  in  the 
bow  of  the  crowded  boat,  with  a  little  orchestra 
throbbing  faintly  behind;  gay  voices,  laughing, 
singing — all  'way  behind;  the  quiet  little  waves  in 
front — now  hidden  in  long  dark  stretches,  now 
gleaming  in  red  streams  of  light  from  lighthouses 
out  in  the  ocean;  swishes,  lappings,  the  solemn 
voices  of  bell-buoys  and  the  low  distant  bellows  of 
steamers;  the  deep  confused  murmur  of  the  city — 
far  behind,  but  as  you  listened  it  drew  you  back  and 
back  till  again  you  could  feel  the  street's  roar.  And 
Jim  close  beside  her — staring  ahead — his  big  black 
eyes  twinkling,  wondering,  reverent  before  the  big 

beauties  of  the  world. 

************* 
131 


i3 2     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Dreamland"  at  old  Coney  Island. 

A  million  spr  riding  lights  1  Lights  above  and 
below  and  around  them — from  tall  white  towers, 
from  grotesque  little  theatres,  gay  cafes  and  quaint 
foreign  villages,  from  canals  and  lagoons — from 
everywhere  lights !  And  a  band  that  set  the  whole 
world  to  rocking. 

A  million  people — from  nodding  white-heads  to 
chuckling  babies,  drifted  this  way  and  that  and 
laughed !  Laughed  at  fat  anxious  old  men  riding 
camels,  at  shrieking  young  girls  who  were  shooting 
the  chutes,  at  boys  tumbling  down  long  curving 
slides,  at  dignified  women  struggling  up  stairs  that 
were  endlessly  bumping;  they  laughed  when  hats 
were  blown  off  by  blasts  of  wind  from  holes  in 
walls,  they  laughed  at  mirrors  that  twisted  them  up 
into  ghosts  and  giants  and  goblins.  A  million  peo 
ple  laughed  and  hurried  this  way  and  that.  The 
street,  jerking,  roaring  and  racing — all  for  fun  ! 

Down  the  chutes  they  dashed — with  Jim's  deep 
ringing  laugh  in  her  ears,  his  big  arm  around  her, 
and  what  a  whoop  he  gave  as  they  struck  the  la 
goon  ! 

"Come  on  I    Try  it  again  !" 

"But  Jimmy  aren't  we  spending  too  much?" 

"Come  on  !    Too  much  is  plenty  1" 


THE  DREAMS  OF  TWO          133 

And  down  again !  Then  a  cool  grotto  to  stop 
and  breathe  in.  Then  a  wonderful  ballroom — and 
how  he  danced !  And  so  on  to  new  exciting  places, 
where  he  scared  the  life  out  of  cowards  by  painting 
the  dangers  ahead.  "Glorious  scamp !"  she  heard 
one  old  lady  chuckle.  The  whole  rollicking  place 
seemed  centered  round  Jim ;  she  could  feel  it  when 
ever  she  bothered  to  look.  Every  one  watched 
him,  listened  to  him,  liked  him.  Blissful  Gretchen! 
************* 

But  the  next  morning — how  different;  how  in 
tensely  he  would  work  at  his  music. 

Gretchen  felt  the  same  strength.  She  was 
ashamed  of  her  long  idleness.  The  money  Jim  had 
loaned  them  had  not  yet  been  paid  back;  and 
though  Fritz  had  tried  hard  to  earn  more  by  copy 
ing  music,  he  could  save  but  little. 

So  again  Gretchen  began  looking  for  work,  and 
found  it — trimming  hats  in  a  millinery  shop  in  the 
Ghetto.  Despite  the  protests  of  Fritz  and  Jim,  she 
worked  from  eight  in  the  morning  until  six  at 
night,  bending  up  and  down  over  hats,  smiling  and 
talking  with  the  young  Jewish  girls  around  her,  but 
with  her  mind  'way  off  in  dreams. 

These  dreams  made  her  want  to  work  harder — 
but  they  made  her  feel  stronger  too;  so  strong  that 


i34     THE  FOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

soon  she  was  racing  just  as  the  others  raced;  she 
raced  'way  beyond  her  strength — and  fainted  one 
night,  and  two  kind  young  girls  helped  her 
home. 

And  so  Jim's  loan  was  only  half  paid  up. 

Then — when  again  she  was  weak  and  ill — Jim 
was  the  funniest  nurse.  He  was  thoughtful  and 
tender— but  in  ups  and  downs.  When  he  sang  to 
her  at  twilight,  she  could  feel  how  the  thought  of 
her  suffering  made  him  angry;  his  voice  rose  and 
shook,  and  abruptly  stopped — and  he  was  bending 
far  over  the  big  chair: 

"Oh  Gretchen — what  a  beast  of  a  nurse  I  am!" 

"Why?"  She  lay  back  with  eyes  closed — her 
lips  twitching. 

41  Why?  Because  I  sing  loud  enough  for  a  ball 
game!  Yes  1  do!  And  I'm  through!  No  more 
singing  in  this  room  for  two  weeks !  Well — let's 
talk  about  something — something  stupid  and 
sleepy.  Tell  me  about — the  days  when  you  were  a 
kid — dolls — nursery — anything.  And  do  it  slow  ! 
Don't  get  excited!" 

And  while  she  talked  she  watched  him  sideways. 
As  he  listened  gravely,  her  lips  would  twitch 
harder,  she  would  go  into  details  so  small  and  femi 
nine  that  his  face  grew  strained  and  desperate,  till 


THE  DREAMS  OF  TWO  135 

at  last  she  stopped  and  made  him  go  on  with  his 
singing. 

One  night  he  brought  her  a  stiff  little  bouquet  of 
street  rose's — white,  coarse  and  short-stemmed. 

"The  Skinner  put  me  up  to  itl"  he  explained, 
triumphantly. 

He  brought  exactly  the  same  sort  of  bunch  every 
night.  It  was  wonderful  how  fresh  she  kept  them 
— she  still  had  Monday's  roses  when  Friday's  had 
come,  This  inspired  in  Jim  the  idea  of  seeking 
variety;  he  eagerly  caught  any  hints  of  the  kinds 
she  liked,  and  he  scoured  the  street  stalls  far  and 
wide;  he  even  went  over  to  the  North  River  docks 
and  brought  back  beauties  fresh  from  the  boats. 
Sweet  peas — big  ones — pink  and  white  and  laven 
der,  violets  as  autumn  drew  on,  and  soft  red  Lib 
erty  roses. 

Gretchen  at  last  grew  uneasy.  Here  he  was 
again — the  same  impulsive  old  Jim  running  away 
with  himself;  his  clothes  grew  shabby,  his  shoes 
needed  mending,  his  collars  were  threadbare — but 
-still  he  bought  flowers;  and  when  she  protested,  he 
looked  at  her  in  such  a  way  that  it  was  dangerous 
for  both  of  them. 

One  night  just  before  supper,  Gretchen,  in  her 
spotless  little  kitchen,  was  bending  over  the  oven, 


136     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

trying  three  big  brown  baked  potatoes  with  a  fork 
to  see  if  they  were  done.  She  heard  his  quick  step 
outside.  He  laughed  and  came  into  the  kitchen. 

"What  bully  potatoes !" 

His  voice  was  low  and  bursting  with  a  secret. 
He  held  one  hand  behind  his  back;  his  thick  curly 
black  hair  was  all  rumpled  over  his  forehead,  his 
big  lips  were  twitching  hard,  eyes  dancing  down. 

The  hand  swept  out  with  a  big  dewy  bunch  of 
violets  and  pressed  them  to  her  face. 

"Jimmy!"  in  half-stifled  tones.  "But  why  did 
you  get  them  again?" 

"Because,"  said  Jim,  calmly,  "I've  got  two  seats 
to-night — for  the  opera." 

Gretchen  dropped  the  violets  and  looked  up,  her 
hands  at  the  sides  of  her  quaint  German  apron,  her 
face  all  flushed  from  the  oven,  her  eyes  all  dazed. 

Jim  looked  what  he  felt. 

"You're  a  wonder  to-night!"  he  whispered. 

She  turned  and  walked  slowly  into  the  other 
room,  and  saw  old  Fritz  who  had  heard  and  was 
staring  up  from  his  copying.  As  her  eyes  met  his 
she  felt  it  harder.  Would  Jim  never  stop  spending 
money?  Fritz  bent  slowly  again  to  his  work,  but 
stopped  and  his  square  old  jaws  tightened.  Gretchen 
kept  watching  him. 


THE  DREAMS  OF  TWO          137 

He  looked  up  cheerily: 

"Jimmy,  vot  ees  de  opera  ?" 

"Faust." 

"Fine!"     Fritz's  face  grew  radiant.     "So  now 

hurry  de  supper!" 

************* 

From  up  in  the  dark  gallery  she  gazed  down 
over  the  silent  heads  and  through  .the  soft  empti 
ness  to  the  stageland  far  below.  What  delicious 
dreamy  lights !  What  flowers  and  trees  and  star 
lit  skies !  And  what  voices ! 

She  turned  to  look  at  Jim's  face,  at  his  big  lips 
half  parted,  eyes  shining.  She  could  feel  the  voice 
in  him ! 

She  felt  his  pressure  on  her  arm.  The  opera  was 
all  over!  A  moment  they  sat  gazing  into  each 
other's  eyes,  while  the  people  rose  all  around  them. 
His  face  was  still  absorbed,  as  though  still  listen 
ing,  and  his  voice  shook  in  a  whisper: 

"I'd  rather  always  listen  with  you  than  with  any 
one — any  one — always!" 

And  all  that  winter  Jim  kept  watching  the  pro 
grammes  far  ahead,  and  took  her  one  evening  each 
week. 

Each  week  he  told  how  the  great  teacher  had 
praised  him;  and  she  could  see  that  even  her  father 


i38     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

was  surprised  and  was  changing  toward  Jim.  Fritz 
told  her  what  a  great  man  the  teacher  was,  how 
stern  and  sparing  in  praise,  how  much  he  could  do 
for  Jim  if  he  would. 

"Ach!"  he  cried,  one  afternoon,  "I  get  happy — 
like  a  Frenchman !  But  shoost  you  rememoer,"  he 
added  sternly  to  Jim,  "years — years  of  hard  vork 
alreatty  yet!  Don't  jump  too  quick!  Vork.  Go 

slow!11 

************* 

How  hard  Jim  sang  in  the  "Rip"  that  winter. 

Dago  Joe  bent  far  over  the  keys,  absorbed  in  his 
own  strange  chords,  struggling  to  suit  them  to  the 
big  glad  songs,  and  always  fiercely  begging  Jim  to 
sing  more — more — more ! 

But  when  Jim  no  longer  refused,  and  sang  more 
and  more  zvnd  harder — then  even  Joe  sometimes 
looked  up  anxiously,  listening,  as  though  afraid. 


CHAFFER  XV 

GRETCHEN  FACES  THE  STREET 

JIMMY!" 
She  had  sprung  up  from  the  piano,  but 
now  sank  back,  trembling,  with  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

Jim  gave  a  short  low  laugh.    She  looked  up. 

"Don't !"  she  said.  "You  have  no  right  to.  You 
feel  the  same  thing  I  feel.  What  is  it?" 

Jim  bent  over: 

"Gretchen — you  little — serious — old — woman. 
Won't  you  even  let  a  chap  have  a  cold  when  he 
wants  to?  It's  not  my  voice — I  tell  you  my  voice 
is  all  right!" 

But  that  night,  up  in  the  opera  gallery,  she 
watched  him,  forgetting  the  "Siegfried"  motifs 
they  had  so  eagerly  studied  all  that  week,  and  she 
saw  that  Jim  was  forgetting  them  too.  He  was 
staring  not  down  into  the  place  of  soft  lights,  but 
straight  out  into  the  darkness. 

In  the  next  few  weeks  she  could  see  him  change. 

«39 


1 40     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

He  tried  to  leave  out  the  twilight  songs  at  home, 
but  Fritz  said: 

"No — please  sing — I  haf  a  reason  yy."  And 
Fritz  listened  anxiously. 

Sometimes  the  voice  sounded  even  stronger  and 
purer  than  ever;  but  in  its  new  harsh  husky  mo 
ments  she  could  feel  what  Jim  was  feeling.  He 
would  shake  off  the  creeping  dread  and  clear  his 
throat  and  sing  to  the  end.  And  at  such  times 
Gretchen  no  longer  stopped,  but  played  on  with 
him;  and  when  he  laughed  it  all  away,  she  laughed 
too. 

But  between  times  she  was  very  quiet. 

At  last  she  talked  it  over  with  Fritz.  Never  had 
the  old  man  seemed  stronger  or  steadier. 

"No — no,"  he  would  say,  stroking  her  hair. 
"Not  so  bad — de  voice  ees  only  spoiled  a  little," 

And  then  he  would  pull  her  'way  down  in  the  old 
chair,  and  they  had  long  times  like  they  used  to 
have ;  only  now  these  times  were  filled  with  think 
ing  and  planning  for  some  one  else. 

They  made  a  wonderful  quiet  little  plan  that  was 
to  cure  the  voice  and  everything  so  nicely,  but 
when  they  told  it  to  Jim  he  laughed  in  a  most  pain 
ful  way. 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  he  said.    "It  won't  do." 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET        141 

uBut  why  not?*'  she  asked,  eagerly.  UI  know 
it's'  hard  to  go  back  to  the  stable,  but  the  out-door 
driving  and  all  that,  it's  just  what  you  need.  And 
you'll  come  home  so  dreadfully  hungry,  and  I've 
splendid  plans  for  big  delicious  suppers,  and  then 
in  the  evening  we'll  read  aloud — your  favorite 
books — and  you  can  have  lots  of  sleep;  you  can 
even  sleep  when  I'm  talking  (you  did  it  once)  and 
that's  just  what  you  need.  Jimmy,  you  know  it  is! 
Isn't  it?" 

Jim  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke 
slowly: 

uThere's  not  enough  money.  That  stable  work 
is  only  ten  dollars  a  week  at  the  most.  My  lessons 
alone  take  twelve.  I  need  twenty  dollars  a  week  to 
get  along  on.  I've  been  making  twenty-five  at  the 
'Rip' — thirty  in  rush  weeks — and  I — haven't 
saved — a  cent.  No — I've  got  to  stay  in  the  'Rip1 
and  take  my  chances!" 

He  said  this  last  so  suddenly  and  in  so  different 
a  tone  that  Gretchen  jumped  up  out  of  Fritz's  chair. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

As  Jim  looked  back  she  saw  all  at  once  the 
change  she  had  only  half  guessed  before.  A  score 
of  looks  and  tones  she  had  noticed  all  flashed  back 
to  her — and  this  look  was  all  of  them  in  one.  It 


i42     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

seemed  to  suit  his  broad  face,  set  jaws,  big  lips  and 
flashing  eyes.  The  whole  of  Jim  was  tightening. 
He  spoke  again  very  low : 

"I'm  in  a  tight  place — I  know  that — but  it's  just 
as  the  Skinner  says — I've  got  to  hold  on  and  wait 
for  my  chance.  I'll  ease  down  at  the  'Rip'  to  . 
twenty  .dollars  or  even  lower;  I'll  save  my  voice 
all  I  can.  And  besides,"  he  gave  a  long  question 
ing  look  at  Gretchen,  "can't  you  feel  how  I'm  sim 
ply  bound  to No — you  can't  feel  it." 

"Feel  what?" 

They  had  both  forgotten  Fritz  was  there.  Their 
eyes  did  most  of  the  talking.  Jim's  eyes  were  search 
ing  hers. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  thought  you  could — but 
you  can't." 

"Why  can't  I?    Jimmy,  what  is  it?" 

"If  you  can't  feel  it,  I  can't  make  you.  It's  just 
the  feeling  I  had  when  I  was  a  kid — always  have 
had  it — the  luck  inside  of  me — a  feeling  that  some 
how — I'm  simply  bound  to  win." 

Old  Fritz  half  rose,  but  sank  back — his  wrinkled 
face  set  and  angry. 

Jim  put  both  his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"Gretchen — dear  little  girl — leave  this  to  me — 
won't  you?" 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET         143 

In  those  months  of  Spring,  she  felt  his  whole  at 
titude  toward  her  change.  He  grew  tender,  kind, 
protecting — in  his  good  times;  and  in  his  bad  times 
he  kept  silent — thinking  and  feeling  by  himself. 

She  could  feel  the  old  street  creep  in  between 
them. 

The  sparkling  street.  He  used  to  stare  down 
into  it  at  night  through  the  window,  and  when  in 
the  hot  weather  the  windows  were  open  all  night 
and  the  throb  and  the  jerk  and  the  roar  of  it  all 
came  in,  he  would  lie  back  listening. 

Again  the  street  swaggered  into  the  room,  the 
Skinner  came  often.  And  as  Jim  had  begun  treat 
ing  her  like  a  ulittle  girl,"  so  did  the  Skinner  now, 
only  more  so;  he  shut  her  out  more  and  more,  he 
took  Jim  away  at  night  for  long  secret  talks,  and 
they  smiled  at  supper  over  mysterious  secrets. 

Jim  grew  even  kinder  and  more  tender.  And 
Gretchen  grew  very  quiet. 

The  Skinner  was  now  a  "board-marker"  in  an 
office  on  Wall  Street.  His  talk  was  all  of  stocks 
and  slumps  and  rallies  and  flurries  and  panics,  of 
millionaire  grafters  who  had  had  the  nerve  not  to 
get  caught,  of  bank  cashiers  who  had  speculated, 
lost  and  tried  again  and  lost — and  then  ended  in 
prison  or  suicide  ;or  more  thrilling  still, had  escaped 


144     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

by  seizing  a  last  desperate  chance  and  winning.  He 
told  of  out-and-out  grafters  who  knew  what  they 
were,  but  here  again  were  the  "wise"  ones  who 
bribed  the  police,  and  the  "fools"  who  went  to 
prison.  The  Skinner's  street  from  top  to  bottom 
was  graft — a  bewildering  ladder  of  thefts  from  the 
millionaire  to  the  pickpocket,  all  shaded  down 
from  respectable  stealing  to  thuggery.  And  al 
ways  the  nerve  that  pulled  men  through.  Nerve 
was  everywhere. 

Nerve  in  the  bluff.  A  made  B  think  A  had  some 
thing  he  hadn't.  Or  funnier  still — A  tried,  and 
shrewd  old  B  made  A  think  B  believed  him.  Or 
again — A  found  out  B's  secrets;  or  better  yet — B 
knew  A  was  spying  and  prepared  fake  secrets  and 
let  A  find  them.  Stories  so  human  and  keen  and 
sparkling  that  Jim  would  laugh  till  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks;  and  Gretchen  watching  this  tried 
to  laugh  too.  "Every  man  a  liar"  has  been  a  glori 
ous  rich  theme  ever  since  Reynard  the  Fox,  but 
never  more  so  than  now  in  the  street  of  the  Skinner. 

Nerve  in  the  fight.  He  was  always  talking  of 
"killings"  on  Wall  Street.  At  first  Gretchen  got 
these  "killings"  all  mixed  up  with  the  suicides,  and 
to  her  they  always  meant  either  some  one  really 
dead  or  in  asylums  or  prisons.  But  soon  she  saw 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET         145 

that  to  the  Skinner  and  Jim  these  "killings"  meant 
simply  millions  of  dollars  swept  up  in  a  minute  by 
big  men  who  ploughed  straight  on — trampling, 
"knifing,"  sweeping  to  left  and  right.  Gretchen 
shuddered — and  Jim  leaned  closer. 

Nerve  in  taking  chances.  The  most  glorious 
nerve  of  all.  For  the  grafting  bluffing  fighting 
old  street — contradictory  always,  was  forever 
young  and  rich  in  chances  from  Wall  Street  to 
Tammany  Hall.  Chances  even  in  singing. 

"What's  a  voice  compared  to  a  "business  man 
ager?"  cried  the  Skinner.  "Is  it  you  or  the  theatre 
trust  or  some  new  feller  who  is  fighting  the  trust? 
Is  it  you  or  the  theatre,  lights,  orchestra,  advertis 
ing  agent?  Is  it  you  or  some  rich  feller  that  hap 
pens  to  pick  you  up  and  boom  your  name?  You  or 
the  public?  And  how  can  you  get  to  the  public 
without  money?  And  how  can  you  get  the  money 
— without  taking  chances?" 

And  as  Jim's  broad  face  tightened,  the  Skinner 
leaned  over  and  said: 

"Lucky — you  look  just  like  you  used  to  shooting 
craps.  Only  now  your  nerve  is  steadier.  Do  you 
remember  that  night  when  we  won  the  big " 

And  back  rushed  the  Skinner,  'way  into  the  past; 
Jim's  face  glowed,  and  they  talked  the  old  street 


146     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 


all  over  again — in  lower  terms.  The  "swiping' 
from  fruit-stands,  the  endless  bluffing,  the  fight  to 
buy  papers,  the  fight  for  a  place  to  sleep,  the  ways 
they  fooled  the  night  watchman,  the  craps  and 
poker  and  bets,  the  coffee,  cigarettes  and  beer;  and 
the  nerve  in  getting  out  of  tight  places.  They 
laughed  till  their  eyes  ran  over. 

Was  Jim  in  a  tight  place  now?  Yes,  but  he  had 
been  long  ago  in  scores  of  tight  places,  and  had 
chanced  it  and  won  out !  So  the  past  gave  advice  to 
the  present.  And  Lucky  Jim  grew  natural. 

And  Gretchen,  forgotten  and  witching  Jim's 
eyes,  was  quiet.  More  and  more  quiet  as  the  weeks 
of  autumn  drew  on;  quiet  at  twilight,  when  she 
heard  Jim's  voice -grow  worse  by  ups  and  downs; 
quiet  at  supper  when  the  Skinner  painted  the  fasci 
nations  of  the  street;  quiet  all  the  long  evening 
while  old  Fritz  rambled  on  about  old  dreams  of 
love  and  childhood  and  music;  quiet  sometimes  all 
through  the  night — alone  with  herself,  planning 
and  fearing  and  hoping,  and  planning  all  over 
again,  and  aching  and  growing  so  swiftly  older. 

The  street  came  on.  It  moved  like  Jim  in  ups 
and  downs,  and  now  it  was  rising  to  one  of  its  swift 
est  highest  most  dazzling  moments.  Election  night 
was  near. 


SHE  FJCES  THE  STREET         147 

Each  evening,  as  the  roar  and  the  strain  and  the 
jerk  and  the  throb  rose  higher,  she  could  feel  Jim 
watch  and  listen,  she  could  feel  it  in  the  way  he 
stared  down  into  the  crowd  that  roared  round  the 
Tammany  speaker  on  the  corner  below;  she  could 
hear  it  in  his  voice  as  he  talked  hard  and  fast  with 
the  Skinner,  a  wild  dark  jumble  of  tips  and  quota 
tions,  "two  to  one  money,"  "sure  things,"  "dark 
horses,"  "split  tickets"  and  "landslides."  She 
could  feel  it  most  of  all  in  that  old  hour  of  dusk, 
when  the  voice — grown  harsh  and  husky — would 
go  up  and  down,  now  strong  and  glad  and  fiercely 
sure;  now  deep-thrilling  with  suspense,  impatience 
and  dread. 

In  the  uRip"  he  had  forced  the  pace  up  to  forty 
dollars  a  week. 

And  the  growing  harshness  in  his  song 
was  like  molten  lead  to  the  anxious  ear  of 
Gretchen. 

In  the  last  week  Jim  stopped  all  his  singing,  even 
his  lessons.  The  Skinner  came  no  more,  but  Jim 
went  up  after  supper  and  often  stayed  until  dawn. 
He  would  be  up  for  breakfast,  smiling,  kind,  reas 
suring — how  she  hated  that  manner.  And  then  all 
morning  he  would  sit  by  himself,  the  smile  gone, 
his  face  set  hard  and  bent  over  his  papers,  his  eyes 


i48     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

moving  steadily  up  and  down  columns  and  rows 
and  scattered  groups  of  figures. 

All  Election  Day  he  stayed  home,  while  the 
street  roared  steadily  louder.  And  still  he  sat  at 
night,  staring  out  of  the  window. 

The  narrow  Ghetto  street — a  surging  mass  of 
heads  and  tossing  arms  and  nervous  steps  and  eager 
eyes.  Saloons  poured  out  their  crowds — laughing, 
shouting,  swearing,  singing;  and  high  above 
shrilled  the  boy  voices — "Extry!  Extry!  Extry!" 
More  crowds  poured  in  from  the  Bowery  close  by. 
They  shoved  and  elbowed  and  joked,  they  bought 
papers  and  read  and  swore;  horns  blew,  babies 
cried  and  were  slapped,  shrewd  old  peddlers  called 
their  wares;  and  the  crowd  pushed  on  and  on  to 
nowhere.  But  all  stopped  for  a  moment  and 
surged  around  the  election  polls  at  the  corner — 
staring  through  the  closed  doors  at  the  judges. 

Returns — returns !    When  would  they  all  be  in? 

Jim  stared  down  into  the  white  glare  and  the 
yellow  flares  of  the  torches,  and  he  never  noticed 
the  soft  light  from  the  old  shaded  lamp  which  she 
lit  close  behind  him.  He  listened  to  the  roar  and 
the  blasts  of  the  horns,  and  never  heard  her  ask 
him  to  supper.  And  when  at  last  she  put  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  he  turned  like  a  flash  and  a  wave  of  dis- 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET        149 

appointment  swept  over  his  face,  which  she  noticed. 

"Not  here  yet!"  he  muttered.  Then  he  saw  the 
look  on  her  face  and  turned  quickly  back  to  the 
window. 

For  a  long  silent  nervous  hour  Gretchen  stood 
motionless — watching  Jim.  And  old  Fritz  sat 
watching  Gretchen. 

A  quick  rattle  at  the  door. 

"Lucky !"  yelled  the  Skinner  bursting  in,  "Lucky, 
your  hand !  Good!  Madam — your  hand!  Good! 
Money  as  far  as  you  can  see !  So  easy  it  was  like 
takin'  it  from  de  quiverin'  helpless  fingers  of 
a " 

"Skinner!"  Jim'.s  voice  was  low  and  shaking — 
"Get  out! — Just  a  minute! — I'll  be  with  you! — 
Here — wait  out  here !" 

He  closed  the  door  and  sprang  back.  Gretchen 
had  sunk  into  a  chair. 

"Gretchen  !  Don't  look  so  scared — or  mad  or — 
crazy  or — oh  I  don't  know  what!"  he  laughed. 
"Guess  I've  forgotten  how  to  talk! — But — listen! 
Look  up,  won't  you? — Please!" 

She  looked  up  straight  into  his  eyes,  dilated  now 
and  sparkling.  He  leaned  suddenly  over  her  chair. 

"Poor  little  girl — you  don't  see  it  now — but  you 
will !  Don't  worry ! — Try  to  sleep — Won't  you  ?" 


150     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

The  next  moment  he  was  gone.  She  sprang  to 
the  door. 

"Jimmy ! — Jimmy !" 

But  only  footsteps  clattering  down  the  stairs;  the 
sharp  excited  voice  of  the  Skinner;  Jim's  joyous 
laugh;  and  the  roar  of  the  street  rising  again  in 
her  ears — loud,  pitiless,  hungry  I 

************* 

How  much  older. 

She  stood  by  the  window. 

Behind  her  the  soft  light  of  the  lamp;  in  front, 
the  hard  flickering  glare  of  the  arc-light  from  the 
street;  and  sifting  down  between  tenement  roofs, 
the  first  dull  light  of  day.  Strange  blending  of 
lights. 

Stranger  still — each  light  seemed  just  to  suit  her 
face. 

The  quiet  old  light  from  behind  streamed  softly 
on  the  light-brown  hair  demurely  braided  in  a 
quaint  ring  round  her  head,  on  the  young  tender 
serious  profile,  on  the  delicate  lips,  rounded  chin, 
and  girlish  lines  of  neck  and  besom. 

But  the  hard  flickering  glare  from  in  front 
showed  a  very  different  face — a  high  broad  fore 
head  contracted  with  worry  and  thinking;  big  round 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET        151 

blue  eyes  that  gazed  down  as  though  still  seeing 
pictures  in  the  silent  empty  street,  eyes  that  now 
struggled  and  burned  and  again  grew  quiet,  think 
ing  hard. 

And  from  above,  that  dull  light  of  dawn  fell 
on  a  face  weary,  worn,  despairing. 

How  much  older. 

Once  old  Fritz  had  come  out  in  his  qufeer  short 
nightgown  and  put  his  arm  around  her  and  whis 
pered  : 

"Ach — mein  baby — not  so  hard — not  all  at 
once.  Please — come  to  bed — please." 

She  had  shaken  her  head  impatiently,  but  when 
he  kept  standing  there  and  she  felt  his  arm  tremble 
with  the  cold,  she  turned  quickly  and  laughed  and 
said: 

"Let's  make  a  nice  big  fire !" 

At  this  Fritz  was  so  relieved  that  he  bustled 
about,  getting  her  shawl,  bringing  a  fresh  bucket  of 
coal  from  the  box  outside,  and  all  the  time  reassur 
ing  her,  praising  Jim  and  minimizing  all  the  dan 
gers  ahead. 

"Ach!  You  will  see!  Yes — yes!  It  vill  still 
be  all  goot  und  fine!" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quietly,  "I  will  see.  It  will  be — 
all  good  and  fine." 


1 52     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Old  Fritz  turned  and  watched  her.  How  much 
older. 

When  the  fire  crackled  and  glowed  she  kissed 
him  good-night  and  went  into  her  room.  But  when 
she  heard  his  door  close,  she  came  out  and  listened 
till  he  was  asleep,  and  then  she  relit  the  lamp,  and 
again  she  stood  by  the  window — watching. 

Slowly,  in  the  dull-gray  light,  she  noticed  big 
soft  snovvflakes  drifting  and  wandering  down  past 
the  window.  Little  by  little  her  thinking  drifted 

and  wandered  too,  and  grew  dull — waiting. 
************* 

She  knew  Jim's  step  at  once.  It  was  quick,  im 
patient  and  strong. 

"So  that  is  how  he  feels  1"  she  thought. 

She  turned  to  the  door,  her  face  again  growing 
rigid,  but  her  big  eyes  very  quiet. 

The  step  paused  outside,  abruptly;  a  low  laugh, 
a  fumble  with  the  key,  the  door  moving  open  with 
out  a  creak,  and  Jim  came  in. 

His  face  was  haggard,  his  collar  turned  up  and 
his  coat  wet  with  snow,  but  his  eyes  were  strong 
with  a  glad  impatient  light.  His  voice  was  low. 

44 Asleep  ?"  he  nodded  toward  Fritz's  door. 

"Yea." 

"It  must  be  after  midnight!"    He  glanced  smil- 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET         153 

ing  at  the  clock.    "What?— Five— o'clock?1'    He 
turned  back  to  her.    "Poor  little  girl — no  wonder 

you  look  so  queer — so  old — so Gretchen ! 

Are  you  sick?    Please!    Tell  me — let  me  go  out 
and  get " 

'Tell  me  about  it," 

He  stood  now  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  hair  all 
rumpled,  eyes  snapping  and  twinkling.  His  low 
voice  rose  faster,  describing  the  crowds,  the  Broad 
way  parades  and  the  torches  by  thousands,  the 
booming  bands  and  speeches  and  cheers. 

"And  all  the  time  the  Skinner  and  me  kept  hunt 
ing  for  that  fool  Republican,  who  was  still  backing 
his  man  for  Congress!  He  wanted  four-to-one 
money  and  we " 

uYou  wanted  to  try  it  again."    So  quiet. 

Jim  stared  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Why  yes!     I'll  tell  you "     He  stopped 

short.     "But  not  now.     You're  too  tired.     I'm- 
I*m  sorry  I  began." 

"Please  go  on.  I  am  listening — harder  than  you 
think.  You  see  I'm  not  such  a  'little  girl'  now. 
YouVe — made  me  see  it." 

For  a  moment  she  held  his  eyes  until  he  saw  that 
what  she  said  was  true. 

"You  mean" — she  went  on  almost  in  a  whisper 


154     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

— "you  mean  that  you  went  out — and  the  Skinner 
and  the  crowd  and  the  rag-time  music,  the  torches 
and  the  yells — all  made  you  feel  like — old  times. 
And  you  had  won  money — you  felt  this — this  luck 
in  you  coming  up — and  so  you  wanted  to — try 
again.  Was  that  it?" 

"Gretchen — you're  a  wonder!1'  Jim's  whole 
look  was  changing;  his  hands  fell  to  his  sides  and 
he  leaned  forward,  smiling.  "Why  just  at  supper 
you  seemed  ten  years  younger!" 

"Yes.  That  was  long  ago."  She  too  leaned 
closer  now  and  tried  to  smile.  "As  long  ago  as — 
when  you  used  to  sing — with  nothing  bad — in  your 
voice  or — in  you.  You  sang  well — didn't  you  ?  We 
had  some  dreams — didn't  we  ?  We  saw  everything 
so  bright  ahead  of  us — didn't  we?  We  heard  only 
the  good  beautiful  songs — didn't  we?  We  had 
some  dreams  Jimmy — didn't  we?" 

As  she  fell  suddenly  forward  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms. 

"Gretchen!  We'll  see  'em  all  again— all— all ! 
I'll  sing;  I'll  leave  the  'Rip';  I'll  do  nothing  but  my 
lessons!  Only  money  first  to  do  it.  Just  a  few 
more  lucky  strokes  like  this  one.  The " 

"No!"  Her  eyes  looked  close  up  into  his. 
"Now,"  she  whispered,  "don't  you  feel  it?  Don't 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET         155 

you  feel  you  can  stop  if  you  only  will?  Oh  don't 
keep  me  out!  Jimmy!  We  can  stop!  And  the 
voice  will  sing  again !  The  voice  we  dreamed  of — 
Jimmy!1' 

"If  I  stay  in  the  'Rip' — no!  Don't  you  know  I 
love  you?  Love  you!  love  you!  love  you!  I've 
never  said  it — but  you've  always  known — you 
know  now — you  always  will!  My  life — voice — 
singing — all  is  you !  I  thought  I  could  keep  you 
out  of — what  I'm  doing  now,  but  I  see  I  can't,  all 
of  a  sudden  you're  old,  you  want  to  know !  Then 
listen ! 

"In  the  'Rip'  my  voice  was  going.  Stop  using  it 
too  fast  ?  I  couldn't !  That's  not  me !" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "you  can — you  can !" 

"I  tried — you  know  I  tried,  but  I  couldn't!  Save 
money?  I  couldn't!  I  wanted  to  see  you  happy 
quick !  We  were  !  Weren't  we  ?" 

"Happy?  Yes — so  happy!"  She  clung  to  hin 
trembling. 

"We'll  be  happy  again !  Sweetheart — we  will ! 
But  I  know  myself  better  than  you.  You  can't  feel 
what  it  is  to  have  all  this — this  luck — 'way  down 
inside  of  you  always  waiting!  And  why  is  it  bad? 
I  need  money,  I  tell  you !  I  can't  be  worried  scrap 
ing  it  up,  I  can't  strain  and  scrape  so  close  to  the 


156     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

edge.  Your  father — how  old — how  long  can  he 
keep  giving  lessons  ?  And  you — you  mustn't  work. 
You  nearly  died  once  when  you  tried !  I'd  kill  my 
voice  first!  So— -I  must  have  money!  Enough  to 
take  us  'way  up — out  of  all  this — give  my  voice  a 
chance — to  live;  give  you  and  me  a  chance — to 
live!  I  must  get  money — quick! 

"I've  begun  to-night.  I  bet — it  was  three  to 
one — I  had  the  small  end — the  best  chance  you 
could  get  in  town.  The  Skinner  got  it — he's  'way 
on  the  inside — wise — wise — he  got  all  the  tips. 
I  got  some  more — he  worked  'em  out — we  knew  it 
was  sure.  So  I  grabbed  the  chance,  put  up  forty 
dollars — at  three  to  one — an'  waited  an'  won.  A 
hundred  and  twenty!  Then  we  found  a  man  late 
to-night  who  still  had  hopes  for  a  Congressman — 
he  still  offered  money.  I  found  him,  gave  him  four 
to  one,  eighty  to  his  twenty.  I  tell  you  I  was  sure ! 
I  could  feel  the  luck  would  hold !  It  did — a  hun 
dred  and  forty  dollars  in  a  night! — Gretchen ! 
Don't  you  see?  Can't  you  see?" 

But  she  lay  back  exhausted — her  eyes  closed. 

"No.    Not  now." 

Her  eyes  opened,  holding  his  just  for  a  moment, 
and  she  whispered: 

"Only  this :  I  won't  keep  out.    Never !    Tell  me 


SHE  FACES  THE  STREET         157 

everything  always.  It  will  be  all  right.  But  not 
now — not  now — not " 

The  room  whirled,  she  heard  Jim's  voice  sud 
denly  kind  and  caressing,  she  felt  his  arm;  he  was 
carrying  her  into  her  room. 

He  was  gone,  and  she  tried  to  undress,  then  fell 
on  the  bed  and  pulled  up  the  quilt  and  sank  'way 
down  into  darkness. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A  NEW  PLAN — FROM  WHERE? 

A  MONTH  had  passed. 
With  the  money  he  had  won,  Jim  could 
afford  to  leave  the  "Rip."    And  now,  with 
his  teacher's  help,  the  harshness  and  huskiness  was 
slowly  leaving  his  voice. 

Never  had  he  worked  so  eagerly  as  now. 
Gretchen  played  while  he  sang,  laughed  with 
him,  walked  with  him,  dreamed  with  him,  had  long 
serious  talks  with  him.  But  in  spite  of  all  her  striv 
ing  she  could  feel  the  old  passion  which  the  street 
had  rooted  in  him  so  deep ;  it  was  rising  now  again. 
.  The  money  he  had  won  was  almost  gone.  How 
get  him  more?  How  pay  back  what  Fritz  and  she 
owed  him? 

She  saw  old  Fritz  growing  feebler  each  day. 
Even  his  scanty  earnings  might  soon  stop. 

She  had  a  long  inner  struggle — fighting  down 
bitter  old  memories. 

158 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    159 

And  at  last,  in  the  autumn,  she  went  back  to 
Miss  Louise. 

She  found  in  Miss  Louise's  face  a  startling 
change.  It  was  twitching  and  strained,  and  the 
eyes  kept  impatiently  shifting. 

Gretchen  hurried  through  her  story. 

"You  see,"  she  ended,  "his  whole  voice — his  life 
— everything  depends  on  what  happens  now.  If 
you  could  only  hear  him'sing  you'd  feel  how  dread 
ful  it  is  to  have  such  a  voice  just  ready  to  be  lost  for 
good  and  all.  And  it's  so  easy  to  save  it.  If  only 
now  he  didn't  have  to  bother  about  money,  he 
would  throw  himself  into  his  music  and  forget 
betting  and  Wall  Street,  and " 

"Forget  Wall  Street?" 

Miss  Louise's  laugh  was  very  short  and  low,  but 
bitter. 

"Forget— Wall  Street.    You— poor  baby." 

In  a  moment  she  had  forgotten  Gretchen.  But 
Gretchen  watched  her  face,  and  at  last  leaned  over: 

"Do  you  mean — your  father — on  Wall  Street — 
something  has — happened?" 

"Yes  something  has  happened.  But  you  were 
speaking  of  Jim,  Lucky  Jim  the  Gambler.  Well, 
you  poor  little  innocent,  let  me  tell  you  something." 

Miss  Louise  leaned  forward — her  dark  hand- 


i6o     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

some  face  more  tense  than  ever,  her  brown  eyes 
flashing  with  pain. 

"Lucky  Jim  was  a  gambler — he  ij  a  gambler — 
he  will  be  one  always.  Do  you  hear? — always! 
They're  all  alike.  If  you  want  to  be  happy — leave 
Jim  alone.  If  he  wins  and  then  wins  a  thousand 
times  and  gets  a  house  like  this  or  a  dozen  houses — 
even  then  he'll  never  forget — he'll  only  play  for 
bigger  stakes  !  His  voice?"  she  laughed.  " Voice, 
wife,  daughter — they  must  all  go — do  you  hear? 
All !  Nothing  is  so  deep  in  him  as  the  game  he's 
playing — because  that's  his  life." 

Again  she  had  forgotten  Gretchen. 

"That  will  always  be  his  life,"  she  murmured, 
as  though  to  herself,  "and  the  life  of  his  family — 
Oh,  what  a  funny  world  it  is !" 

Gretchen  bit  her  lips  to  keep  down  her  blaze  of 
anger.  How  she  hated  this  lady  now.  The  hard 
laugh,  the  hopeless  eyes,  the  "funny  world,"  the 
"leave  Jim  alone."  What  a  weak  selfish  brute  of 
a  woman ! 

But  Gretchen  kept  silent.  It  was  her  only  chance. 
She  looked  down  to  hide  her  hatred. 

"Why  Gretchen!"  cried  the  lady  suddenly. 
"You're — why,  how  much  older  you  look — you're 
a  woman !" 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    161 

Gretchen  looked  up  and  held  the  other's  aston 
ished  shifting  suffering  brown  eyes  with  her  own 
big  steady  blue  ones. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly,  "7'w  a  woman." 

Miss  Louise  took  her  hand. 

"Gretchen,  tell  me  about  him — all  over  again. 
I'm  sorry  I  didn't  listen  at  first.  Tell  me." 

"Never  mind  about  him — please.  I  won't 
bother  you.  I  only  came  to  ask  if  you  can  help  me 
to  get  back  my  old  work — embroidery — for  you 
or  the  other  ladies?" 

"Of  course  I  will.  But  Gretchen  child— tell 
me — what  has  changed  you  so  wonderfully?  I'm 
interested !" 

"I'd  rather  talk  about  work." 

So  they  did. 

And  then  Gretchen  went  away  and  began  her 
thinking. 

So  it  was  all  as  the  Skinner  had  said.  Only  how 
much  deeper  now,  how  real  and  close. 

At  supper  that  night  she  heard  the  Skinner  tell 
of  a  fight  that  had  shaken  the  whole  "Street";  the 
nerve  of  the  man  who  fought;  how  he  had  kept 
things  secret  till  the  very  last  and  then  had  grabbed 
every  force  in  reach  and  hurled  it;  gathered  new 
forces,  fighting  on  and  on  to  the  very  end;  and  then 


162     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

when  the  crash  had  come — the  way  he  had  saved 
the  remnants  and  kept  his  head  up  for  a  fight  some 
other  time.  The  nerve  of  the  man  1  And  the  man 
was  Miss  Louise's  father. 

Was  the  whole  business  world  a  gamble? 

"A  gambler  he  is  and  he  will  be  one  always! — 
Leave  Jim  alone!*' 

How  she  hated  Miss  Louise  now.  A  quiet 
steady  beginning  of  hatred. 

But  she  forced  down  her  hate  and  went  from 
house  to  house.  The  work  piled  up.  And  as  she 
sewed  harder  and  harder,  slowly  her  thoughts  and 
plans  and  hopes  and  fears  were  all  sewed  into  her 
work.  What  a  relief  it  was  to  be  doing  something. 

But  still  she  could  feel  the  street  come  on. 

As  Jim's  money  dwindled,  he  had  again  begun 
poring  over  sheets  of  figures.  He  went  away  early 
each  morning  and  came  back  at  a  little  after  three 
o'clock — his  face  strained  and  haggard.  He  would 
swallow  a  cup  of  tea,  take  his  music  and  rush  off  to 
be  in  time  for  his  lessons.  And  at  night  out  came 
more  sheets  of  figures.  Sometimes  listening  from 
her  bed  she  could  hear  him  turn  page  after  page — 
now  nervously,  now  very  slowly,  until  long  after 
midnight. 

One  day  he  came  home  early — at  two  o'clock. 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    163 

He  stood  a  moment  at  the  window,  his  big  shoul 
ders  slouched  forward  and  his  black  eyes  had  lost 
all  their  old  twinkle.  They  were  dull,  staring  at 
nothing.  Only  his  hands  slowly  clenched  behind 
his  back. 

Gretchen  watched  him: 
"You're  early." 

"Yes — I'm  early. "    His  voice  was  loud  and  un 
natural.    "There  was  nothing  left  to  wait  for.11 
She  dropped  her  sewing. 

But  in  a  moment  she  rose,  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  came  out  soon  with  tea  and  cold  ham  and  two 
crisp  thin  slices  of  toast.  He  was  still  by  the  win 
dow.  She  stopped — with  the  tray  in  her  hands, 
set  it  down  gently,  went  into  her  bedroom  and  came 
back  in  a  few  minutes  wearing  the  soft  white  mus 
lin  frock  that  Jim  liked  best.  As  she  moved  about 
setting  the  table,  she  hummed  an  old  German 
sleep-song — the  same  song  she  had  hummed 
that  night  long  ago  when  Jim's  voice  had 
cracked. 

He  turned  slowly  and  saw  her,  and  his  glance 
fell. 

"Jimmy — please — the  tea  is  getting  cold — and 
it's  nearly  time  for  your  lesson.1' 

"My  lesson!" — his  voice  was  a  harsh  whisper 


i64     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

now.  "Oh  yes,  my  lesson!  I'd  forgotten  I  ever 
had  a- — " 

He  turned  suddenly  back  to  the  window  and  she 
could  see  his  hands  again  slowly  clinch  behind 
him. 

"Well !"  He  turned — with  a  laugh  struggling 
up  through  the  pain  in  his  eyes.  "What  a  fool  I 
am !  Let's  drop  it.  Let's  have  two  cups — shan't 
we?  Come  on — have  some  tea  with  me — be  a 
good  fellow!" 

He  talked  on,  faster,  talking  down  the  hard  look 
each  time  it  rose  in  his  face. 

He  drank  and  ate  nervously  and  went  away. 

Late  that  night  he  came  back. 

He  spoke  at  once,  standing  beside  them.  His 
voice  was  again  low  and  natural. 

"I've  just  gone  back  to  the  man  at  the  *Rip.f  I 
told  him  why  I  had  left  him  two  months  ago — 
because  my  voice  was  going.  I  told  him  what  IVe 
been  doing  and — how  I've  lost  out.  I  won't  bother 
you  with  it — you  wouldn't  understand.  It  was 
twenty  shares  on  a  stop-loss  margin.  Something 
broke  and  I  lost  every  cent.  I  told  him  what  my 
teacher  said  about — what  my  voice  might  be.  I 
asked  him  to  take  me  back.  He  said  it  would  have 
to  be  at  a  lower  rate  of  pay.  I  asked  him  why. 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    165 

He  showed  me  that  he  was  right — a  plain  business 
proposition — of  demand  and  supply." 

Jim  smiled  bitterly. 

"I  had  Joe  with  me,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen 
the  way  Joe  looked  at  the  man.  Demand  and  sup 
ply — wait  till  I  get  it  straight." 

He  spoke  slowly — still  smiling. 

"What  an  easy  time  these  business  men  have 
with  us  poor  devils.  Demand  and  supply — a  big 
ger  supply  of  cafe  voices  in  New  York  at  this  sea 
son — more  Hungarians  and  Italians  imported.  He 
said  the  market  was  overloaded  this  Fall — with 
apples  and  voices.  Great  joke! — But  Joe  didn't 
see  it!  He  ran  over  to  the  piano,  he  began  pound 
ing  out  one  of  our  songs  from  Naples,  and  I  sang 
it — hard! — And  you  ought  to  have  heard  the  peo 
ple  clap  and  yell! — Then  the  proprietor  laughed 
and  said,  'Well — I  guess  in  your  case  the  demand 
has  gone  up  too — so  we'll  make  it  the  same  old 
pay.'  And  Joe — he  growled,  and  swore  under  his 
breath  that  he'd  kill  the  man  some  day! — Joe  kept 
begging  me  to  sing  all  night.  But  I  stopped  early. 
I  think  that  this  time  I  can — keep  on — stopping 
early." 

"Can  you?"  cried  old  Fritz  in  a  harsh  bitter 
voice.  "Can  you  ever  go  slow?  Can  you?" 


1 66     THE  VOICE  OF -THE  S  TREE  T  - 

"Of  course  he  can,"  said  Gretchen  quietly — still 
sewing.  "Can't  you,  Jimmy?" 

As  she  looked  up  she  seemed  to  lose  hold  of  her 
self,  but  in  an  instant  her  eyes  were  steady  again 
and  her  lips  parted  in  a  smile. 

"We  can — can't  we,  Jimmy,"  she  whispered. 
"Let's  have  our  song  now — just  one — and  then 
you  must  sleep." 

The  old  Jim  came  back  in  the  old  song  that 
night. 

But  afterwards,  after  the  cozy  little  supper  they 
cooked  together  so  merrily,  after  Jim  had  gone  to 
bed — she  lay  awake  for  hours  and  hours.  And  she 
could  hear  him  tossing. 

So  it  was  all  the  next  month.  Together  they  sang 
and  laughed  and  were  so  sure  they  could  hold  the 
voice  in.  But  alone  it  was  different,  alone  she  sat 
for  hours  at  her  sewing,  bending  'way  over,  her 
brows  knitted. 

For  now  she  knew. 

Her  simple  little  plan — just  to  sew  night  and 
day  to  pay  back  Jim  and  so  stop  his  worries  about 
money  for  his  lessons — this  plan  was  going  to  fail. 
It  was  too  slow.    The  street  moved  faster. 
************* 

A  new  plan — from  where? 


~A  NEW  Ph74N— 

From  old  Fritz? 

She  could  see  he  was  silently  making  a  plan  of 
his  own,  and  was  only  waiting  for  a  good  chance  to 
speak. 

The  chance  came  one  winter's  afternoon.  Jim 
had  come  in  from  a  long  morning  in  Wall  Street. 
He  sat  down  by  the  window  and  bent  over  his 
sheets  of  figures — fiercely,  as  though  gripping 
something  almost  in  reach.  When  Gretchen  lit 
the  lamp  he  hugged  the  window  closer  and  went 
on  watching  by  the  dim  fading  light  above, 
still  went  on  by  the  quivering  glare  that  poured 
suddenly  up  from  the  street.  The  soft  quiet 
light  from  the  lamp  streamed  on  his  face; 
now  and  then  he  glanced  back  at  it  impa 
tiently;  he  put  up  his  hand  to  keep  it  from 
his  eyes,  but  the  light  streamed  on.  At  last  he 
gave  in. 

"Well!     That's  dontl" 

He  jumped  up  and  moved  in  quick  nervous  steps 
about  the  room. 

"Yes— done!" 

He  stopped  and  stared  into  the  comfortably 
glowing  coals. 

"And  done  just  about  right  too,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Just — about — sure." 


i68     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

" Jimmy."  She  was  at  the  piano.  "Just  one 
song  before  supper." 

"Yes.  Bully! — Just — about — sure — if  it  will 

only "  He  stopped  and  stood  smiling  into  the 

fire. 

"Jimmy?" 

"What  is  it?— Oh  yes !    The  song !" 

He  came  to  her  quickly. 

"What  shall  we  have  to-night?  Just  what  you 
like  best.  And  we'll  sing  it  hard  this  time — hard!" 

And  so  he  did.  The  voice  to-night  was  gloriously 
rich  and  resonant,  the  very  air  thrilled  with  it.  But 
strong  as  it  was,  the  feeling  beneath  it — straining 
and  grasping — was  stronger  still.  Never  had  Jim 
sung  so  Tiard  as  now,  never  had  he  felt  so  hard,  so 
fierce,  so  vibrating  to  the  depths  of  him — waiting. 

So  hard  that  when  he  had  finished  and  had  gone 
out  hastily  without  his  supper,  Gretchen  still  sat  at 
the  piano,  staring  straight  before  her. 

Then  she  felt  old  Fritz's  two  hands  on  her  shoul 
ders.  The  hands  stole  slowly  and  caressingly 
around  and  met  on  her  bosom  and  softly  drew  her 
back,  till  she  turned  her  face  up,  and  her  eyes — big 
with  pain — met  his. 

"Mein  baby,"  he  whispered.  "Now — you  see- 
how  he  ees? — He  vill  be  always  so." 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    1 69 

His  whisper  rose  abruptly  to  a  cry,  loud  and 
shaking. 

"Ve  haf  done  all — all !  He  must  not  burn  your 
soul  for  all  your  life  ahead!  He  must  go  avay — 
by  himself.  It  ees  not— too  late — for  you.  You 

can  be  happy "  his  voice  broke  into  low  broken 

laughter,  "happy  like  you  used  to  be — happy  like 
your  mother  vas.  'Fritz !'  I  hear  her  already  in 
mein  dreams  at  night,  'Our  baby — make  her  happy 
— make  her  safe.'  So  she  speaks — und  you  vill  lis 
ten.  Let  me  help  Jimmy — I  vill  do  for  him  all  I 
can.  But  you — be  happy — be  safe!  Leave  him 
alone  for  now ! — Don't — don't  turn  avay." 

She  turned  quickly  back — her  eyes  brimming. 

"Dear  daddy,"  she  whispered.  She  laid  her 
cheek,  hot  and  flushed,  against  his,  which  was 
wrinkled  and  cold;  again  and  again  she  kissed  him 
and  murmured  caressing  little  words  from  old 
times;  and  grew  quiet. 

So  quiet. 

"Leave — Jimmy — alone?"  Her  voice  now  was 
low,  but  so  steady  and  strong — like  the  look  in  her 
eyes,  that  he  only  stared  back  in  silence. 

"Leave — Jimmy — alone?" 

Her  eyes  told  him  the  rest. 

The  next  morning  Fritz  began  working  harder 


170     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

still.    And  Gretchen  went  on  sewing,  picking  out 
parts  of  plans  old  and  new,  building,  abandoning, 

building  again. 

************* 

A  new  plan — from  where  ? 

She  went  to  the  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

When  the  proprietor  saw  her  enter  the  empty 
cafe,  he  came  forward  smiling. 

"Gretchen!  Why  so  it  is!  Little  serious 
Gretchen! — But  how  much  older." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"Why — you're  a  woman !" 

"Yes,  yes."  She  spoke  hurriedly.  "I'm  old— 
and  so  we  can  talk  in  a  business-like  way.  I  can 
see  now  how  you  felt  about  my  father;  it  was  just 
business,  wasn't  it?  You  didn't  want  to  discharge 
him,  but  he  kept  losing  you  money — so  you  had 
to.  He  doesn't  fit  New  York  as  well  as  Nurem 
berg,  he  doesn't  fit  you,  he  never  understood  you 
— as  I  do  now ;  he  never  would  have  come 
here — as  I  do  now;  to  ask  you  to  help  Jimmy. 
But " 

"Oh  yes  he  would !  He  knows  me  better  than 
you  think.  He  was  here  about  Jim  only  two  days 
ago." 

"What?" 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    171 

Gretchen  sank  into  a  chair.  She  felt  her  plan  all 
slipping  away.  But  she  gripped  herself  hard  and 
stood  up. 

"Yes.  Of  course.  He  must  have  come.  It  just 
shows  you  how  anxious  we  are — when  even  my 
father  would " 

"Oh  but  why  not  ?  You  aren't  fair  to  me.  When 
I  tell  you  what  I  said  to  him " 

"Don't!  Don't  tell  me  anything  he  said  or  you 
said — please!"  She  tried  to  smile.  "Just  let  me 
begin  it  all  fresh.  And  I  won't  be  long,  for  I  know 
how  busy  you  are.  All  business  men  are  the  same. 
When  I  sew  with  their  wives  or  daughters  or  moth 
ers  I've  been  asking  so  much  about  these  men  lately 
that  now  I  feel  I  almost  know  them.  And  you  are 
all  alike.  And  so  I  just  want  to  talk  about  Jim  in 
— in  a  business-like  way." 

She  sat  down  quickly. 

"If  Jimmy's  voice,"  she  began,  "came  to  be  fam 
ous  all  over  the  world,  wouldn't  that  be  a  fine  ad 
vertisement  for  you — to  say  he  had  come  from  your 
cafe  and  that  you  had  helped  him  up?" 

"Well  1    I'd  be  proud  to  have  done  it  anyway!" 

"No — but  in  a  business  sense — wouldn't  it? 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  investment  just  to — to  make 
sure  that  Jimmy  would  get  famous?" 


1 72     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Decidedly!  What  a* good  little  business  head 
you  have.  That's  just  what  I  told  your " 

"Never  mind  what  you  told!  A  good  invest 
ment  if  it  were  safe — that's  what  you  were  going 
to  say.  But  can  you  always  get  safe  investments? 
Is  anything  absolutely  safe?  Why  of  course  not! 
I  mean  I  should  think  not.  I've  heard  the  ladies 
speak  so  much  about  their  husbands— the  very  men 
who  do  the — the  best — in  business.  And  they 
don't  always  make  safe  investments.  Oh  no — I 
almost  think  they  use  the  unsafe  ones  more  than 
the  safe  ones.  It's  like  on  the  race  track. 
You " 

"Race  track!"  cried  the  astonished  proprietor. 
"What  do  you  know  about " 

"Yes  I  know  about  that  too,"  the  anxious  voice 
hurried  on.  "You  see,  I've  learned  so  much  lately. 
On  the  race  track  you  like  to  bet  one-to-two,  because 
if  you  do  win — think  how  much  you  get.  I've 
asked  some  of  the  ladies  about  it  and  they  laughed 
and  said  they  never  went,  but  they  said  their  hus 
bands  liked  the  one-to-two  bets — I  mean  invest 
ments — in  their  business.  Please  don't  smile — I 
know  I'm  telling  you  what  you  know  already,  all 
business  men  know  it.  If  you  see  a  chance  where 
there's  a  whole  big  fortune  to  win — and  it's  almost 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    173 

sure — wouldn't  you  put  just  a  little  money  into 
it?" 

"Yes — certainly.    That's  what  I  told " 

"Oh  wait!  Whatever  you  told  any  one  else 
doesn't  matter  I  If  you  want  to  make  a  business  in 
vestment  you  want  to  learn  about  it  from  the  per 
son  who  knows  it  best.  Well — in  this  case  I'm  the 
person.  I  care  more  for — his  voice — than  for  any 
thing  else  in  the  world — so  IVe  watched  it  and 
I  can  tell  you  more  about  it  even  than  Jimmy  can 
himself.  I  won't  tell  you  what  /  think  about  it  or 
what  my  father  thinks  or  what  the  ladies  who  come 
here  think.  You  know  that  already.  And  any 
way,  the  voice  is  going  to  be  so  much  greater  than 
any  of  them  think !  You'll  be  surprised  when  I  tell 
you !  I've  remembered  it  all  exactly,  to  give  you 
careful  business-like  information." 

She  stopped — her  face  tense  with  thinking,  and 
then  she  spoke  in  a  queer  slow  monotone — as 
though  giving  legal  evidence. 

"On  the  evening  of  August  twelfth  he  came 
home  and  told  me  that  his  teacher — oh!  I  forgot 
something!  Please  remember  that  his  teacher  is 
the  greatest  in  New  York!  Now  I'll  go  on  again 
— He  told  me  that  his  teacher  had  said,  'My  boy, 
I  am  immensely  pleased  at  something  I  find  in  your 


174     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

voice  that  I  never  felt  there  before.'  That  was  in 
August.  A  great  many  times  in  the  next  month  the 
teacher  said  other  things,  I  have  tried  and  tried,  but 
I  can't  remember  them  and  I  dare  not  ask  Jimmy 
because  I  can  see  that  he  hates  to  think  of  them 
now.  But  the  teacher  did  say  them — splendid 
things !  And  so  you  see,  it  would  be  a  good  invest 
ment!" 

She  had  looked  up,  eagerly.  She  looked  down 
now  and  went  on  in  the  slow  formal  speech : 

"On  the  afternoon  of  September  the  nineteenth, 
he  told  me  that  his  teacher  had  gripped  his  hand 
tight,  just  as  he  was  leaving,  and  said,  'Keep  on! 
And  some  day  I  shall  be  proud  of  you  I*  And  please 
remember — he  said  this  at  the  very  moment  when 
Herr  Bauer,  the  famous  baritone,  was  standing  in 
the  other  room,  waiting;  the  teacher  even  kept 
Herr  Bauer  waiting  to  say  this,  and  he  almost  in 
troduced  Jimmy  to  Herr  Bauer.  I  then  asked 
Jimmy  if  the  teacher  spoke  to  Herr  Bauer  about 
him,  and  Jimmy  said  Herr  Bauer  turned  all  of  a 
sudden  and  stared  at  him.  So  of  course  the  teacher 
had  spoken  of  him — I  mean  I  should  think  so. 

"Then  on  the  evening  of  November  the  seventh 
he  told  me  that  the  teacher  had  asked  two  friends 
in  to  hear  Jimmy  sing  a  certain  song,  especially  tci 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    175 

hear  him  take  a  certain  high  note;  I  can't  remem 
ber  now  just  what  note  it  was,  but  it  was  very 
high  for  a  baritone,  and  then  they  made  him  sing 
as  far  down  as  he  could,  and  they  were  surprised — 
very — much — surprised — at  his  range.  I  then 
asked  Jimmy  who  they  were — famous  opera  sing 
ers  or  big  managers  or  teachers — but  he  didn't 
know.  Oh !  please  remember  that  this  teacher  is 
not  only  the  best  in  New  York,  but  he  is  also  the 
quietest,  the  most  severe,  the  Grossest,  the  meanest, 
the  hardest — perhaps  I  make  him  out  too  bad,  but 
all  I  want  to  say  is  that  he  never  praises  anybody, 
so  when  even  he  says  such  splendid  things  to 
Jimmy — why — can't  you  see — it — it  would  be  a 
good  investment? 

"Now  there's  another  part,  and  this  is  the  last 
part."  Her  voice  sank  and  she  spoke  faster.  "You 
know  how  fast  his  voice  is  being  hurt  by  singing 
here ;  the  same  as  it  was  hurt  here  twice  before,  only 
then  he  stopped  in  time,  and  now  I'm  afraid  he 
won't  be  able  to.  He  is  gambling  again  and  worse 
than  ever!  Isn't  it  terrible  to  just  take  your  voice 
and — and  everything  in  your  life  ahead — all  down 
to  Wall  Street,  and  say,  'If  this  stock  goes  up  my 
life  will  succeed;  if  it  goes  down  my  whole  life  will 
fail!'  That's  just  what  he  is  doing.  And  so  he 


176     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

comes  here  at  night  and  sings  harder,  harder, 
harder,  to  get  more  money  to  gamble !  Even  you 
can  hear  his  voice  grow  worse.  I  can  feel  it  now 
on  so  many  notes  and  in  so  many  other  ways,  be 
cause  I  know  all  about  the  voice — just  as  though  it 
were  a — a  house  I  lived  in." 

Again  her  face  tightened  regain  the  strainedloolc 
and  the  precise  deliberate  monotone. 

"On  the  evening  of  December  twenty-fourth  he 
told  me  his  teacher  had  said,  'If  you  go  on  like  this 
your  voice  will  be  spoiled  beyond  hope  of  ever  sav 
ing!* — This  means — it  means — that  you  will  lose 
the  chance  to  make  him  into  a  safe  splendid  invest 
ment.  But  you  won't  lose  it — you  won't — you 
won't — you  can't ! — Please  excuse  me.  I  will  talk 
quietly.  All  you  need  do  is  to  make  him  stop  for 
a  little,  loan  him  a  little  money,  perhaps — five  hun 
dred  dollars — for  lessons. 

"Is  that  so  much?  Just  think  how  rich  you  are 
getting,  how  much  money  you  have  made  in  the  last 
fifteen  years  since  you  forced  my  father — I  mean — 
how  rich  you  are  and  how  rich  you  will  be  if  you'll 
only  make  this  investment  1 

"And  think  of  what  will  happen  if  you  don't. 
He  will  gamble  and  gamble  and  gamble,  his  face 
will  grow  whiter  and  thinner  and  harder,  and  all 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    177 

this  you  will  feel  worst  in  his  voice.  And  this  will 
be  bad  for  your  business.  I  can  tell  you  for  sure; 
I  know,  because  Fm  a  woman;  Fve  talked  with 
Miss  Louise  and  so  many  rich  ladies  whose  fathers 
or  husbands  gamble.  They  all  hate  it,  I  tell  you ! 
It  frightens  them.  And  so  when  they  come  here 
for  fun  and  brighfTnusic  and  laughing,  they'lthear 
this  in  his  voice — always*  harder,  fiercer,  wilder! 
And  they'll  all  go  away.  And — and  so  you'll  lose 
money.  And  you  can  save  it  all  by  just  five  hun 
dred  dollars.  Is  that  so  much? 

"Why  think  of  what  will  happen  if  you  do.  He 
will  go  up  so  fasti  In  a  few  months  he  will  come 
back  and  sing  and  you  will  be  surprised  and  all  the 
people  will  be  surprised  at  his  voice!  I  can  feel 
just  how  it  will  be;  I  know  the  voice  so  well;  I 
know  what  parts  of  it  are  harsh  and  weak  now,  and 
how  it  will  sound  when  they  are  all  made  rich  and 
smooth.  And  a  good  deal  more  than  that — I  know 
how  Jimmy  himself  will  feel.  Jimmy  was  born 
just  to  Le  glad  and  sing.  He  always  said  he^vanted 
only  th..1  glad  songs.  And  now  he  will  be  glad  and 
you  will  hear  it  all  in  his  voice.  No  more  gambling 
or  shaking  or  straining,  the  whole  feeling  of  it  will 
be  so  happy  and  safe  and  sure  that  all  the  people 
will  have  to  listen  because  it  will  be  such  a  change 


178     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET, 

from  their  own  hard  nervous  lives.  So— so  they 
will  come  here  in  crowds  and — and  so— he  will  be 
a  splendid  investment !  Oh  don't  you  see  ?  Don't 
you?  Don't  you?" 

The  man  looked  at  her  a  moment  pityingly. 

"I  have  already  loaned  Jim — three  hundred,"  he 
said. 

Gretchen  rose — slowly. 

"Yes — three  weeks  ago."  The  man's  voice  was 
low  and  kind.  "And  now — what  else  shall  I  do? 
Make  him  stop  singing  here  for  the  next  few 
months?  I'll  do  that  if  you  say  so." 

She  suddenly  laughed : 

"How  different  you  are  from  what  I  thought  you 
were !" 

"You  thought  I  was  a  brute.  So  did  your  father. 
I  am  half  a  brute.  So  are  all  men.  It's  been  in 
our  blood  for  thousands  of  years,  and  business 
brings  it  out.  Don't  you  see,  it's  not  me,  it's  not 
my  cafe,  it's  not  Jim — it's  the  whole  system.  It's  all 
just  one  big  fight.  And  you  can't  get  out  if  you 
want  to. 

"Look  at  Jim.  He  is  in.  The  Skinner  has  got 
him  into  the  pettiest,  most  dangerous  kind  of  specu 
lation — 'on  margin.'  Jim  is  counting  ahead  on 
every  cent  he  will  make  here  in  the  next  few  weeks, 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHEREt    179 

and  if  I  make  him  stop,  and  the  money  is  taken 
away,  it  may  just  be  enough  to  spoil  his  game  on 
Wall  Street.  Don't  you  see  ?  He's  in  too  deep  1 
He  can't  pull  out  I  And  what's  more,  he  won't. 
If  I  loan  him  another  three  hundred  he'll  only  sink 
it  and  go  on  singing  to  get  more.  It's  all  a  fight, 
and  Lucky  Jim's  a  bully  fighter;  I've  always  seen 
that  in  him,  and  that's  why  I  loaned  him  the  money. 
I'm  backing  hirji  to  win  I" 

He  looked  pityingly  at  her;  her  eyes  were  glisten 
ing1 — fixed  on  the  floor. 

"Now,"  he  said  kindly,  "if  I  were  you  I  would 
not  worry  about  this  any  longer.  He'll  come  out 
all  right.  You're  putting  it  too  strong  about  his 
voice.  I  hear  it  every  night,  and  it's  not  half  as 
bad  as  you  say." 

Gretchen  looked  up. 

"It's  worse,"  she  said,  quickly.  "I  was  afraid 
to  say  how  bad  it  is.  It's  worse.  In  a  month  or 
two — it  will  be  gone.  He'll  burn  it  up.  You  will 
help  him.  Your  cafe  will  help  him.  The  Skin 
ner  will  help  him.  Wall  Street — your  'whole  sys 
tem'  will  help  him.  Even  if  any  one  gives  him 
money  it  will  just  go  into  his  gambling.  That's  it, 
isn't  it?" 

"Exactly !  But  why  won't  you  look  on  the  bright 


180     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

side?  I  tell  you,  Lucky  Jim  will  win !  I  shouldn't 
be  at  all  surprised  to  see  him  clean  up  an  even  thou 
sand  in  the  next  few  months — and  then " 

"Then,"  she  said,  "he'll  go  in  deeper.  By  that 
time  his  voice  will  be  spoiled  and  he  won't  want  it 
anyway.  The  other  side  of  him  will  be  all  of  him. 
He'll  be  like  that— all  his  life— till  it  kills  him." 

She  spoke  with  such  a  strange  quiet  that  the  man 
watched  her  curiously. 

"But  what  can  you  do?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled. 

"I  can  get  money — plenty  of  it — and  then  keep, 
it  myself — and  only  let  him  use  it  for  his  voice." 

"But  where  can  you  get- — plenty  of  money — so 
quick?" 

"I  will.  I  see  what  you  mean  by  saying  that 
everything  is  a  fight.  And  I — I  guess  I'm  begin 
ning  to  have  it  in  my  blood  too." 

She  laughed  up  at  him — a  hard  little  laugh. 

"Just  to  fight  without  caring  what  you  hurt — 
isn't  that  what  you  mean?" 

But  as  she  saw  the  half-shocked  look  in  his  face, 
her  own  face  changed  quickly,  hiding  something. 

"But  what's  the  use?  I'm  only  a  woman,  and 
we  women  aren't  supposed  to  fight,  are  we?  We 
must  be  good  and  gentle  and  honest.  Well — per- 


•" 


\ 


•  •*•••  ,'-."•- 


-*5Z'  Cl 


A   new   plan — from   where? 


A  NEW  PLAN— FROM  WHERE?    181 

haps  I  can — beg  the  money.     That's  it.     Thank 

you  for  all  your  good  advice.    Good  night." 
************* 

In  the  next  few  days  and  nights,  again  with  slow 
desperate  care  she  racked  her  mind  for  a  way  out. 

A  new  plan — from  where? 

One  blustering  dark  afternoon  in  March  she  sat 
sewing  hard  under  the  old  lamp.  Suddenly  she 
looked  up  and  gave  a  startled  cry. 

A  short  burly  figure,  dirty  and  dark,  stood  in 
the  doorway.  The  old  slouch  hat  was  squeezed 
tight  in  the  enormous  grimy  hands,  and  from  under 
the  matted  and  tumbled  black  hair  there  looked  out 
two  big  dull  coarse  eyes. 

As  Gretchen  stared,  the  eyes  dropped  to  the 
ragged  shoes. 

"I "  Joe  cleared  his  throat,  "I  don't  wanta 

maka  you  so  scare.  I  wanta  see  you  bad — but — I 
come  again. " 

He  turned  to  go.    But  Gretchen  sprang  up. 

"Joe!     Don't  go!     What  is  it?" 

He  turned  a  moment,  hopefully,  but  when  he 
saw  the  look  in  her  eyes — a  fascinated  stare,  he 
looked  down  again,  turned  and  went  slowly  away. 

All  through  the  dusk  and  the  night  that  fol 
lowed — how  quiet  was  Gretchen!  How  little 


1 82     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

thought  showed  now  in  her  eyes.  How  much 
doubt  and  fear  and  bitterness  and  fierce  joy  by 
turns.  How  much  amazement  at  herself. 

She  could  hardly  have  told  what  she  felt.  Only 
that  the  old  black  shadow — so  close  now,  so  real, 
was  creeping  up  out  of  the  street,  not  to  Jim  this 
time — but  to  herself ! 

She  shook  it  off  fiercely  and  tried  to  sleep.  It 
came  again.  She  fought  it  down  and  fell  asleep 
exhausted,  just  before  dawn. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  STREET  EDUCATES  GRETCHEN 

WHAT  a  quiet  place. 
She  had   followed  Jim  downtown, 
keeping  well  behind  him,  and  behind 
him  she  had  slipped,  unobserved,  into  a  big  brok 
er's  office  on  Wall  Street. 

A  half  dozen  rows  of  chairs  faced  a  blackboard 
that  reached  to  the  ceiling.  She  slipped  into  a 
chair  in  the  rear  and  sat  there — awkward,  uneasy 
and  dazed.  Already  she  could  see  surprised  glances 
from  the  men  around  her. 

Dazed.  Vaguely  she  wondered  why  she  had 
been  so  dull  and  queer  for  a  whole  week  past.  Why 
had  she  come  to  this  place? 

Then  she  saw  Jim  in  the  front  row,  and  at  once 
she  remembered.  She  had  come  here  to  see  if  all 
that  the  Skinner  and  Miss  Louise  and  the  others 
had  said  was  true. 

Well — it  wasn't  true  at  all.     She  half  smiled  in 

183 


1 84     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

relief.  The  Skinner  had  talked  of  a  great  big  hall 
full  of  men,  shouting  and  screaming  and  waving 
their  hands.  But  here  it  was  quiet. 

There  was  the  Skinner  now,  before  the  big 
blackboard,  marking  down  figures — fast — as 
though  he  were  racing ! 

She  bent  closer.  His  face  was  not  quiet !  The 
rows  of  faces  watching — were  not  quiet!  Jim's 
face — not  quiet!  What  was  it? 

Only  a  huge  square  blackboard.  Tall  columns 
of  figures — with  queer  initials  at  the  head  of  each 
column.  She  looked  hard,  but  at  first  she  could 
make  out  nothing.  Then  she  noticed  the  big  names 
near  the  top.  "New  Yori^"London"— "Ber 
lin" — "Paris."  She  began  to  hear  around  her  the 
names  of  stocks;  she  connected  some  names  with 
the  queer  initials.  And  in  a  flash  she  saw  the  whole 
thing — or  thought  she  did,  understood  it  all, 
needed  to  see  or  hear  no  more. 

This  board  was  a  map  of  all  the  business  in  the 
world !  All  the  business  in  the  world  was  jumping 
silently  up  and  down  with  the  figures.  She  watched 
one  column — 85,  85  1-8,  85  1-4,  85,  79  3-4 — up 
and  down !  And  the  same  in  all  the  columns. 

So  the  Skinner  was  right.  All  the  business  in 
the  world — was — gambling. 


\THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     185 

But  how  quiet. 

Only  a  low  constant  ticking,  which  came  from  a 
round  glass  case,  out  of  which  a  white  paper  tape 
was  always  pouring.  She  looked  closer.  On  the 
tape  was  a  row  of  figures.  More  figures  up  and 
down — pouring  in  from  all  over  the  world. 

How  big  it  all  was !  Were  there  more  rooms 
like  this?  Or  was  this  room  the  center  of  all  busi 
ness  ?  It  looked  nervous  enough  to  be  anything ! 

So  did  the  men  who  came  out  the  glass  offices, 
close  behind  her.  Rich?  Yes,  they  looked  just 
like  Miss  Louise's  father.  Quiet  nervous  faces,  but 
strong,  as  though  they  knew  just  what  they  were 
doing  and  were  sure  of  winning,— 

But  look  at  Jim.  How  weak  and  young  and  out 
of  place  he  looked — leaning  back,  his  big  hands 
working  up  and  down  the  back  of  his  chair;  and 
his  face — she  could  only  see  the  profile — rigid  and 
bloodless.  Only  now  and  then  he  wet  his  lips  with 
his  tongue;  he  was  staring  at  just  one  column. 
"Amal.  C."  What  did  Jim  know  about  "Amal. 
C.?" 

She  watched,  unconscious  of  the  pitying  looks 
and  amused  smiles  of  the  men  around  who  saw  her; 
she  never  even  felt  the  light  touch  of  the  tall  man 
in  uniform  who  wanted  her  to  leave. 


186     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

How  weak  Jirn  looked!  So  different  from  the 
others.  How  had  he  ever  been  allowed  to  come  in  ? 
It  must  have  been  the  Skinner.  How  unnatural  he 
looked.  His  work  just  fitted  his  face;  he  kept 
jumping  from  one  column  to  another,  jotting  down 
his  quick  nervous  figures,  bringing  them  from  all 
over  the  world,  setting  them  there — all  the  busi 
ness  in  the  world — right  before  Jim,  who  knew 
nothing  and  only  stared. 

She  saw  Jim  suddenly  bend  forward.  The  Skin 
ner  was  at  the  "Amal.  C."  column !  He  turned  to 
Jim  and  winked  a  big  joyous  wink,  and  Jim  smiled, 
took  a  quick  shaky  breath  andleaned  back.  "Amal. 
C."  had  gone  up! 

Sho  rose,  saw  the  man  in  uniform,  blushed', 
smiled  painfully  and  hurried  out. 

She  walked  home^  fast,  and  as  she  walked  she 
was  thinking  in  that  same  dull  dazed  fashion : 

"Yes — it's,  all  like  that — all  a  fight.  So  I 'must 
be  like  that  too.  But  not  yet.  I  can  wait  just  a 
little." 

************* 

She  waited  two  weeks. 

While  she  sewed  she  kept  seeing  the  rich  quiet 
room  of  the  ticking,  and  Jim's  face*  watching 
"Amal.  C."  on  the  blackboard. 


THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     187 

The  dull  dazed  feeling  lifted,  slowly  at  first 
and  then  swiftly,  as  the  street  came  on  faster! 

One  night  Jim  came  home  from  his  lesson  and 
said,  with  a  bitter  laugh: 

"My  teacher  told  me  to-day  that  I'm  burning  up 
my  voice  in  the  'Rip.'  He  said  I  didn't  deserve  to 
have  a  voice,  and  he  wouldn't  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  me  till  I  quit  what  he  calls 
4gambling.'  ' 

Just  for  a  moment  Gretchen  thought  she  saw  a 
new  plan.  She  spoke  slowly: 

"Why  couldn't  you  tell  him  why  you  do  it?"  she 
asked.  "Tell  him  how  badly  you  need  money. 
Wouldn't  he  help  you  over  the  next  few  months?" 

Jim  laughed  again. 

"Few  months?  My  voice  needs  years  of  work 
yet.  No — I  wouldn't  ask  him.  But  it's  all  right. 
In  a  few  days  more  I'll  have  money  enough !  And 
then  I'll  stop  and  do  nothing  but  work  on  my  sing 
ing  !" 

Gretchen  looked  away. 

"No,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  was  silly  even  to 
think  of  it.  If  any  one  gave  you  money  you'd  just 
gamble  with  it. 

"Any  one — except  me,"  she  was  thinking. 

It  was  growing  clearer. 


1 88     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"Veil!"  Old  Fritz  stood  white  and  feeble  and 
trembling  in  front  of  Jim.  "Now  you  go  out.  You 
haf  lost  your  teacher.  You  haf  killed  your  voice — 
your  beauty  voice !  You  haf  only  gambled — und 
so  you  vill — all  your  life  ahead!  Now  you " 

"Stop!" 

She  caught  his  old  arm. 

"Daddy! — Look  at  me! — You  won't  say  any 
thing  too  fast." 

She  led  him  into  his  bedroom  and  there  he  fell 
across  the  bed;  she  kissed  him  and  came  out  and 
shut  the  door. 

Jim  still  stood  amazed,  angry,  uncertain  what 
to  do. 

She  sat  down  to  her  sewing. 

"No.  You  won't  go  away,"  she  said,  as  though 
he  had  spoken.  "You  won't  leave  me  when  I  ask 

you  not  to! We  must  just  go  on  and — do  the 

best  we  can.  Don't  say  anything,  please.  I  want 
just  to  think  now  by  myself." 

She  felt  him  watch  her,  she  saw  him  sink  into 
the  big  chair  by  the  fire;  he  rose  nervously,  went 
to  the  window  and  began  poring  over  those  sheets 
of  figures — his  thoughts  'way  off  at  the  blackboard. 
Then  she  wanted  him  back. 

"Jimmy!"  she  smiled  over  at  him — "You  don't 


THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     189 

think — even  a  little — about  anybody — except 
'Amal.C.'— do  you?" 

Jim  looked  up. 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  know  about  copper?" 

"Oh,  'Amal.  C.'  is  copper! — why,  you  see,  I'm 
learning  about  Wall  Street.  When  is  it  coming?" 

"What?" 

"The  piles  of  money  or  the  smash-up?" 

"In  about  a  week." 

Her  smile  had  gone,  she  bent  again  quickly  and 
sewed  faster. 

How  clear  it  was  all  becoming.  What  horrible 
days  and  nights  they  had  been,  and  now  what  a  re 
lief  to  be  almost  decided  I 

But  not  yet. 

In  the  next  twro  days  she  had  more  spells  of  un 
certainty,  pain  and  dread;  spells  when  she  was  al 
most  ready  to  beg  on  her  knees  from  Miss  Louise, 
from  all  the  ladies,  from  the  teacher,  from  the  man 
at  the  "Rip" ;  or  even  to  just  drift  on  and  let  things 
go  as  they  pleased — anything  to  escape  the  new 
plan  she  was  making. 

Right  in  the  middle  of  one  of  these  spells — two 
days  later,  in  rushed  Jim — his  eyes  no  longer 
strained  and  weak,  but  blazing  down  into  hers. 

"Gretchen!"     His  voice  was  low  but  glad — so 


1 90     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

glad.  "I've  won !  Eight  hundred  and  ten  dollars ! 
I'll  begin  my  singing;  I'll  stay  at  home;  we'll  sing 
wonderful  songs;  we'll  go  to  the  opera;  we'll  do 
everything!  We'll -" 

"Jimmy!11 

Her  hand,  icy  cold,  touched  his  and  made  him 
stop.  She  looked  up — eager,  half  despairing,  half 
hoping. 

"You  mean — you  are  through?" 

"No — not  yet!  I'm  playing  my  old  game,  the 
Skinner  got  a  straight  tip  from  the  inside  last  night; 
I'm  in  again  with  all  I've  got,  but  it's  sure!  And 
to-morrow  I'll  quit,  so  to-night  let's  have  a  bully  old 
song — one  of  the  old,  old-timers." 

"No — we  won't  sing." 

She  went  into  her  room  and  lay  there,  listening, 
while  he  sang  alone. 

"Yes,"  she  was  thinking.  "Why  wait  and  hope 
any  longer  ?  Why  not  begin  ? — Why  not — begin  ? 
— But  listen ! — How  strong  his  voice  is  to-night ! 
— How  strong  now! — Strained,  hard,  husky — 
now! — But  now  so  deep,  so  sure! — I'll  wait — just 

a  little — until  to-morrow." 

************* 

To-morrow  was  a  blurr. 

Long  afterward  she  learned  how  one  of  the  big 


THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     191 

fighters,  who  for  months  had  been  telling  the  public 
that  Wall  Street  was  rotten,  now  sent  his  telegram 
flashing  out  over  the  country — bringing  "Amal. 
C.n  down  with  a  crash. 

At  the  time,  she  only  felt  vaguely  that  every 
thing  was  slipping. 

She  could  see  it  in  Jim's  twitching  face,  in  his 
blazing  eyes. 

At  noon  he  had  come  rushing  in,  had  caught  her 
arm,  and  was  talking  in  swift  low  unsteady  tones. 

She  stood  holding  tight  to  the  table  behind  her. 
Vaguely  she  heard  his  voice — as  in  a  nightmare. 

He  wanted  her  to  give  him  all  the  money  Fritz 
and  she  had  saved! 

"Well,"  he  cried  at  last,  "why  don't  you  speak? 
I  must  have  it  quick!  Will  you?  Will  you?" 

"No!"  she  whispered. 

"You  won't?    You'll  let  all  my " 

"Wait  I"  she  whispered.  "You  say  you  know  it's 
sure!  But — I  know  too!  I  mean,  I — feel  it — all 
ahead !  You  are — beaten — beaten !" 

With  a  laugh  he  turned  to  old  Fritz. 

"I  tell  you  it's  sure !  This  slump  is  only  a  bluff. 
The  big  Bulls  are  only  waiting.  If  I  hold  on — 
just  one  hour — it  will  go  up  again — with"  a  rush. 
It's  sure!" 


i92     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

A  moment  he  glared  in  silence. 

"Well,  then,"  he  cried,  "if  you  will,  be  fools- 
Til  win  in  spite  of  you  !  If  you  won't  loan  me  your 
money — give  me  back  mine!  Do  you  hear?  The 
money  I  loaned  you — mine — mine!" 

Old  Fritz  had  stood  motionless — watching  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  shall  haf — all  ve  got — it 
ees  yours! — I  vill  go  mit  you  to  de  bank." 

She  heard  them  go  out  together. 

For  hours  she  sat  staring  into  the  fire.  She  felt 
never  a  throb  of  hope — or  even  suspense.  She  was 
so  sure  that  all  was  ended. 

How  clear  her  plan  was  becoming. 

She  hardly  looked  at  Jim  when  he  came  in  at 
dusk  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

Fritz  was  still  out. 

She  sat  now  sewing,  now  staring  into  the  fire. 

Jim  never  moved.  He  had  settled  back,  and  he 
gazed  at  nothing.  Only  once  he  seemed  to  notice 
the  paper  in  his  hand;  he  unfolded  it;  glanced 
at  it — more  figures.  He  laughed  and  tossed  it 
away. 

As  the  room  grew  dark  the  glow  from  the  coals 
grew  brighter.  More  and  more  Gretchen  stared 
into  the  fire;  at  last  she  stopped  sewing  altogether 
and  began  steadily  thinking. 


THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     193 

And  now  the  last  bit  of  the  dull  dazed  feeling 
was  gone. 

She  rose  quietly  and  moved  about  in  the  kitchen, 
and  found  relief  in  the  work  and  prolonged  it,  and 
cooked  a  delicious  little  supper. 

But  Jim  would  eat  nothing;  he  only  drank  half  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  then  settled  back  as  before. 

She  watched  him. 

"Did  it— all  go?" 

He  nodded.    She  said  nothing. 

"I'm  glad  of  that,'1  she  was  thinking.  "He  will 
never — go  there  again." 

************* 

This  time  she  only  shrank  a  little  when  she  saw 
Dago  Joe  in  the  doorway. 

Jim  saw  him  too — with  a  nervous  irritable  start, 
and  jumped  up  and  said  sharply: 

"I  can't  pay  you.  It's  all  gone !"  And  snatched 
up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

She  watched  Joe  looking  after  Jim.  Joe  had  not 
changed  a  bit.  What  dog-like  devotion  for  Jim  in 
his  dull  fierce  eyes.  She  rose  smiling. 

"Won't  you  have  some  supper?" 

As  he  came  slowly  toward  the  table,  she  sud 
denly  wished  she  hadn't  asked  him,  a  wave  of  loath- 
ing  swept  over  her  face,  and  she  closed  her  eyes 


i94     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

quickly  to  hide  what  she  felt.  But  Joe  saw  and 
stopped. 

"I  no  stay  long —  I  hear  Jim  he  lose  an*  go 
bust.*'  The  deep  voice  was  hurt,  dejected,  sad. 
"I  come — He  think  I  wanta  back  my  money." 

"But — didn't  you?  I  mean — why  shouldn't 
you?" 

Joe  looked  at  her. 

"I  bringa  some  more.'1 

Gretchen's  eyes,  that  had  been  dry  so  long,  sud 
denly  glistened.  Joe  thought  he  understood,  and 
he  drew  closer,  speaking  fiercely. 

"You  sorry  for  Jim  because  now  he  must  taka 
my  money.  You  think  my  money  ain't  good! — 
Say!  De  man  in  de  'Rip' — is  his  money  good? 
No ! — De  men  in  saloons — de  Tammany  men — de 
Skinner — de  big  men  on  Wall  Street — is  deir 
money  good  ?  No ! — All  steal— lika^  me !  You 
ear?  All— likame!" 

She  nodded  and  smiled  slightly — still  gazing  up 
into  his  eyes.  He  drew  closer  and  his  voice  soft 
ened. 

"I  wanta  de  money — only  for  Jim.  If  I'm  bad, 
f  I'm  drunk,  if  I'm  sick;  if  I  steal,  if  I  go  in  de 
ail,  if  I  die — it  is  nothing.  So  long  Jim  singa  de 
ong — so  glad,  so  big,  so  fine — it  is  all." 


THE  STREET  EDUCATES  HER     195 

His  hand  plunged  into  his  ragged  pocket  and 
pulled  out  a  thick  roll  of  money,  which  he  tossed 
on  the  tea-tray. 

"Yon  keepa  de  money  for  Jim — yon  keep — so  he 
don't  give  it  all  into  Wall  Street — Now  I  go.  Soon 
I  come — I  bring  more." 

He  turned  toward  the  door. 

"No!" 

Joe  turned  back. 

"Why?" 

As  she  stared,  her  eyes  cleared  and  grew  quiet. 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "You  have  as 
much  right  to  help  him — as  any  one." 

Joe's  dark  face  brightened. 

"So  you  keepa  de  money?  We  helpa  Jim  I  We 
save  de  voice !  Me  an'  you !" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "you  and  me!" 
JLong  after  he  had  gone  she  still  sat  looking  at 
the  door. 

How  clear  it  was  becoming! 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

"ISN'T  THAT  WORTH — ANYTHING?" 

A  STEP  on  the  stairs. 
She  sprang  up  and  listened;  puckered 
her  dry  lips  to  whistle,  failed  and  tried 
again.     The  glad  little  motif  was  hardly  finished 
when  old  Fritz's  answer  came  back  up  the  stairs. 

She  ran  out  and  leaned  over  the  banister,  talking 
gaily  as  he  came  slowly  up.  She  talked  on  while 
she  helped  him  off  with  his  coat;  she  talked  while 
she  made  him  fresh  tea  and  warmed  up  his  supper. 

Old  Fritz  kept  watching  her — bewildered. 

"Gretchen!" 

"Well?  You  solemn  serious  cross  old  daddy! 
Well?" 

"Vot's  de  matter  mit  you  ?    Has  Jimmy — won  ?" 

She  laughed. 

"No.  Lost.  Every  cent.  So  now  he  can  never 
gamble  again!" 

"Veil  1"  Fritz's  eyes  twinkled.  "Vy  are  ve  al- 
reatty  so  glad?  All  vot  you  an'  me  saved — ees 

196 


"THAT  WORTH— ANYTHING?"    197 

gone.    Vere  ees  de  joke?    Tell  me — so  I  haf  also 
some  fun." 

"Dear  old  daddy  I"  She  hugged  him.  'Tow 
have  money.  Lots  of  it  I" 

"Vot?" 

The  piece  of  toast  in  his  hand  dropped  to  the 
floor. 

"Listen." 

She  snuggled  down  into  the  old  chair  beside  him. 

"To  begin  with — it's  all  a  secret." 

She  stopped  short.  And  when,  after  a  long 
pause,  old  Fritz  looked  around  at  her  face,  he  was 
startled  by  the  black  look  of  despair. 

"Veil!     Gretchen!" 

Her  face  cleared. 

"Nothing.  I  was  only  thinking  of  Jim.  But 
daddy" — she  spoke  slowly  and  very  low,  with  an 
effort — "it's  all  right  now.  You  will  be — so  safe 
and  happy — all  your  life.  And — Jimmy's  voice  is 
— saved  and  he  will — never  gamble — never!  Isn't 
that  worth — anything?"  Her  voice  rose  fiercely. 
"Isn't  it — daddy — isn't  it? — Well — this — secret 
will  do  it  all ! — You'll  leave  this  secret  to  me — 
won't  you?  You  trust  me?  You  know  I  will — al 
ways  do — only  what  I — think  is  right?" 

"Mein  baby."  He  drew  her  in  closer.  "How  can 


198     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

you  effer  do  something  bad? — But  vy  not  tell  me? 
Vy  am  I  here  but  shoost  to  help  you?  Maybe  you 
make  a  mistake.  You  are  alreatty  so  young." 

"No,"  she  whispered,  "I'm  not  so  young.  Be 
sides — there  is  nothing  in  this  secret  I  could  make 
a  mistake  on — nothing.  I'm  so,  so  sure.  It's  only 
this — The  best — friend — we  have  in  the  world — 
has  sent  us  money — and  he  will  send  a  great  deal 


more." 


Old  Fritz's  eyes  clouded. 

"Who?  Und  how  can  ve  take?  How  ve  pay 
back?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  you  would  say  just  that.  But  we 
never  need  pay  this  friend  back,  because  he  is  only 
paying  you  back  for  what  you  did  long  ago." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  tenderly. 

"Daddy — why  do  you  go  every  Sunday  to  the 
big  library  and  read  the  Berlin  papers?  Don't  you 
always  read  about  that  famous  opera  <mor?  Don't 
you  follow  all  he  does  just  as  if  he  were  your  son? 
And  isn't  he?  Who  found  his  voice?  Who  trained 
it  first?  Who  loaned  him  money?  Who  got  him 
friends?  Who  had  him  sent  to  Germany?  Who 
saved  this  wonderful  voice  for  the  world?  You! 
You!  You!" 

She  watched  Fritz's  eyes  grow  radiant,  shining 


"THAT  WORTH— ANYTHING?"    199 

down  into  the  fire.  She  tried  to  go  on,  but  failed. 
Then  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  with  an  effort  she 
whispered : 

"So  now — he — pays  you  back!1' 

"Gretchen!— How?  Vere  ees  de  letter?  Let 
me  hear  vot  he  says — how  he  feels,  how  he  remem 
bers,  how  he  ees!  Quick — de  letter!" 

"I  can't! — Not  yet! — That's  the  secret! — You 

see "  Again  she  stopped  and  her  face  grew 

white  with  the  struggle,  but  Fritz  saw  nothing. 
"He  said  I  must  burn  the  letter — because  he  didn't 
want  you  to  know  who  sent  the  money — That  was 
the  secret  I  tried  to  keep — 'But  he  will  write  you 
soon — as  though  he  were  not  sending  the  money  at 
all — Do  you  see?" 

She  watched  him  anxiously. 

His  eyes  glistened.  His  voice  was  low  and 
broken. 

"Ach — how — how  goot  it  feels.  You  t'ink  all 
de  vorld  ees  bad — all  de  fight,  de  steal,  de  gamble, 
de  race — shoost  for  money.  You  t'ink  you  haf 
been — all  your  life  a  fool.  You  feel  so  bad.  But 
along  comes  a  friend,  und  now — quick  you  know — 
you  haf  been  no  fool — but  right! — You  see  how 
men — are  brudders  still !  How  goot — how  goot 
it  feels!" 


200     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

What  a  joyous  evening  for  Fritz,  gazing  at  won 
derful  pictures  down  in  the  coals,  talking  on  and 
on  to  Gretchen,  telling  all  the  little  past  scenes  and 
memories  of  this  voice  he  had  saved  to  the  world, 
forgetting  the  money  and  all  the  present  relief, 
only  dreaming  his  old  dream — that  all  men  are 
brothers. 

And  when  he  had  told  it  all,  he  took  his  old  fiddle 
and  hugged  it,  and  put  the  whole  vision  to  music. 

Gretchen  played  for  him,  softly — looking  up. 
And  now  in  her  eyes  was  no  fear  or  doubt,  but 
only  love — deep  and  protecting. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  NEXT  THREE  MONTHS 

FOR  many  days  Jim  was  broken,  humbled,  si 
lent — thoroughly  ashamed. 

When  Gretchen  showed  him  the  letter 
'(typewritten)  from  Berlin — bidding  Fritz  use  the 
money  not  only  for  himself  but  also  to  save  and 
raise  some  other  struggling  young  voice,  Jim 
looked  away  and  said  huskily: 

"Find  some  fellow  who  deserves  it.  I  tell  you, 
I'm  bad — through  and  through!" 

But  when  at  last  she  did  make  him  go  back  to 
his  teacher,  he  suddenly  roused  and  worked  des 
perately  hard. 

Those  were  anxious  weeks. 

The  voice  was  strange  and  rough  and  thick.  The 
teacher  gave  Jim  the  queerest  exercises,  the  strict 
est  directions  about  food  and  fresh  air  and  sleep. 
And  Jim  followed  them  all  to  the  letter. 

But  the  voice  barely  improved  at  all;  sometimes 
it  seemed  even  worse — while  the  weeks  dragged  by. 


20 1 


202     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Her  steady  confidence  nerved  him  to  struggle  on. 
Though  at  first  the  voice  grew  twice  as  harsh,  just 
because  she  was  there,  though  at  first  he  would 
watch  her  face  and  his  eyes  would  twinkle  with  pain 
when  the  harsh  notes  struck  her  ear — this  all 
changed.  For  she  seemed  never  to  hear  the  bad 
in  his  voice,  but  only  the  pure  and  the  true. 

At  last  the  roughness  began  to  go.  And  then 
came  the  new.  And  as  it  came,  she  would  look  up 
with  her  eyes  shining  into  his.  And  at  such  times 
it  was  wonderful  how  much  feeling  he  could  put 
into  a  bare  voice  exercise. 

It  was  at  just  such  a  time  that  something  tre 
mendous  happened. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  half  hour,  in  the  old  twi 
light  time,  with  Fritz  away  and  only  the  wise  old 
fire  to  watch  them.  For  three  days  they  had  worked 
on  a  particularly  wretched  exercise  to  bring  out  a 
certain  tone  of  the  voice.  Jim's  voice  had  had  this 
very  tone  so  rich  and  glorious  long  ago;  it  was  only 
the  more  exasperating  now  to  try  and  try  and  miss 
it.  It  simply  wouldn't  come.  Jim  laughed  his 
vexation,  took  a  turn  round  the  room,  knocked  over 
a  chair  and  came  back. 

"Now,"  he  remarked,  quietly,  "this  time  or 
bust!" 


THE  NEXT  THREE  MONTHS     203 

Gretchen  looked  up. 

"Jimmy — don't  you  dare  to  bust!" 

Slowly  the  voice  sank  down  toward  the  awful 
low  note,  Gretchen  bending  closer  over  her  keys, 
Jim  gripping  the  back  of  her  chair.  Suddenly  she 
felt  him  shake  the  chair  hard,  his  head  went  back; 
she  stopped — breathless.  Down,  down,  down  went 
the  voice ! — He  got  it !  And  held  it  and  made  it 
swell  close — deeper,  fuller,  richer! 

And  when  she  turned  her  head,  his  strong  broad 
face  and  black  flashing  eyes  were  so  like  the  voice, 
so  full  of  new  life — that 

"Jimmy !"  at  last,  in  a  stifled  whisper.  "Don't 
you — don't  you  dare  to  stop!" 

And  Jim  didn't  stop,  but  words  did.  It  might 
have  been  minutes  or  hours  or  years. 

The  next  morning  Jim  asked  the  teacher  if  he 
might  begin  on  a  simple  song.  And  the  teacher, 
who  had  been  absolutely  mystified  by  the  way  Jim's 
voice  had  acted  in  the  last  few  weeks  and  especially 
that  morning — threw  u-  his  hands  and  consented. 

"I  know  nothing!"  he  cried.  "Your  voice  im 
proves  without  sense  or  reason.  You  don't  de 


serve  it." 


Gretchen  chose  the  first  song,  and  after  that  life 
grew  so  happy  that  Time,  in  his  jealous  old  fashion, 


204     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

whirled  days  and  weeks  and  months  all  into  a 
jumble. 

Tough  fiendish  old  exercises — famous  ones  used 
by  teachers  all  over  the  world,  exasperating,  caus 
ing  the  tearing  of  hair  and  long  strings  of  curses, 
robbing  anxious  young  singers  of  sleep  and  appe 
tite,  making  them  cross  and  gloomy  and  irritable — 
in  short — works  of  the  Devil !  But  how  Jim  and 
Gretchen  tackled  them,  one  by  one,  and  made  swift 
or  slow  work — but  always  happy  work  of  them  all. 
What  fun  it  is  for  two  people — young  and  of  oppo 
site  sexes,  to  unite  and  snap  their  fin~;*o  at  the 
Devil's  half  of  the  universe  , 

More  money  came  from  Berlin.  And  in  one  of 
the  great  singer's  letters  (always  typewritten)  he 
told  how  glad  he  was  to  hear  about  Jim.  He  wanted 
Jim  to  be  free  from  all  labor  and  care  and  just  give 
all  his  strength  to  the  voice.  What  a  strangely 
kind  and  thoughtful  person  for  one  so  far  away. 

Old  Fritz  was  radiant.  He  fiddled  day  and 
>  night  with  Gretchen  or  played  sly  quiet  little  ob 
ligates  all  by  himself  when  Jim  was  with  her  sing 
ing;  he  gave  lessons  free  to  three  ambitious 
ists,  aged  nine  and  eleven  and  twelve,  whose  em 
bryo  genius  he  had  heard  through  open  tenement 
windows  near  by;  he  went  to  his  old  Third  Avenue 


THE  NEXT  THREE  MONTHS     205 

haunt  for  his  afternoon  stein  of  beer;  he  bought  a 
new  tie — large  and  soft  and  black;  and  he  had  his 
long  white  hair  cut — just  a  little;  he  bought  quaint 
portraits  of  his  favorite  German  composers;  he 
brought  apples  home  to  be  roasted;  he  eagerly 
scanned  the  Berlin  reviews  for  accounts  of  his  pro 
tege's  singing;  he  went  to  Jim's  tet.cher,  who  said 
things  about  Jim's  progress  that  made  Fritz  stop 
for  an  extra  stein  on  his  way  home.  Fritz  beamed 
on  the  world,  trusted  everybody,  loved  Gretchen 
and  Jim,  and  was  sure  that  the  voice  would  "go  up 
— vay  up"  into  the  "World  of  Big  Beauties."  In 
short — old  Fritz  was  natural. 

He  worked  no  more.  His  copy  work  was  all 
taken  now  by  Jim,  who  did  it  in  half  the  time  and 
made  twice  as  many  mistakes — which  Fritz  cor 
rected. 

This  extra  money  Jim  used  on  flowers.  His  old 
habits  came  back  and  grew  swiftly;  it  began  with 
a  huge  dewy  mass  of  sweet  peas — white  and  the 
faintest  shade  of  pink — brought  in  triumphantly 
as  a  surprise  one  delicious  fresh  morning  in  May. 
He  made  her  pin  them  all  on,  and  took  her  off  for 
one  of  their  old-time  boat  rides  down  the  bay." 

And  the  stars  may  have  been  always  just  as  mys 
terious  as  they  were  that  night,  the  millions  of  har- 


206     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

bar  lights  as  gay,  the  dark  places  in  the  waves  as 
wonderful,   the   deep   voice   of   the   bell-buoy   as 
solemn;  but  to  Gretchen  and  Jim  they  were  all 
brand  new — infinitely  more  beautiful,  mysterious. 
And  'way  out  on  the  bow  he  put  it  all  to  music. 
************* 

All  this  was  the  bright  shining  surface  of  those 
swift  three  months. 

Grctchen's  secret  throbbed  deep  below. 


CHAPTER  XX 

DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN 

IT  was  the  old  mysterious  hour;  the  lamp  had 
not  been  lit,  for  it  was  an  old  song  and  she 
knew  the  accompaniment.     A  song  so  old 
and  simple  that  as  he  sang  it  again  and  again,  its 
own  words  seemed  to  slip  away,  and  Jim  was  up  in 
the   "World  of   Big   Beauties" — just  talking   to 
Gretchen. 

His  voice  sank  lower,  and  now  he  could  feel  her 
responding,  so  eager,  so  thrilling  with  hope,  so 
close — that  every  one  he  had  ever  known  seemed 
suddenly  far  away  and  strange  and  hard.  The 
world  felt  suddenly  breathless.  For  the  world's 
richest  moment  had  come. 
Only  for  a  moment. 

Her  chords  suddenly  stopped.  Jim  bent  closer 
in  the  darkness  and  saw  her  face  turned  to  the  door. 
He  looked  around. 

In  the  open  doorway,  gazing  into  the  darkness, 

207 


208     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

listening,  stood  Dago  Joe.  The  light  from  the  gas- 
jet  on  the  landing  fell  on  his  shaggy  hair,  his  square 
face  and  his  rags,  covering  all  with  bright  lights 
and  black  shadows.  He  leaned  slightly  forward — 
his  big  greenish  eyes  gleaming,  absorbed,  forget 
ting  all  his  life. 

Jim  felt  her  hand  clutch  his  arm. 

"Joe!" 

At  Jim's  cry  Joe  started  and  turned  away,  and  a 
hioment  later  they  stood  face  to  face  on  the  landing. 
Jim's  eyes  were  bewildered  and  startled;  in  Joe's 
eyes  the  light  died  slowly  out. 

"Good  night,  Jim." 

He  turned  slowly  away. 
,     "Don't  go ! — What's  wrong?" 

But  Joe  only  looked  back  a  moment  and  then 
started  down  the  stairs.  Jim  heard  him  stumble 
twice,  the  street  door  banged  below. 

He  went  back  into  the  darkness.  He  could  see 
stfll  at  the  piano  a  blurr  of  white — motionless. 

When  he  took  her  in  his  arms  she  trembled  vio 
lently  and  tried  to  draw  away,  but  he  held  her 
tighter. 

"Gretchen !"  he  whispered.  "What  has  he  done? 
— Gretchen! — Joe  will  never  do  us  harm — only 
good.  He  makes  me  ashamed,  I  do  so  little  for 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      209 

him — and  he  would  do  anything  for  me — any 
thing  1" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "anything." 
"Then  what  is  it?  The  money  from  Berlin — 
has  that  stopped  coming?  If  it  has — tell  me  and 
we'll  just  wait  for  it  together.  And  so  we  won't 
worry,  and  even  if  it  don't  come  at  all  we  can  get 
along  somehow.  Is  that  it?" 

"No — The  money  is  coming — It  must  cornel — 
So  it  will." 

"Gretchen — I  want  to  know  every  bad  thing 
that  comes  into  your  life,  I  want  you  close — close 
like  you  were  when  I  was  singing — so  close  we  can 
feel  each  other  feel — so  close  always.  Don't  let's 
ever  have  any  bad  times  like  this  between.  You 
want  that — don't  you?" 

There  was  «a  long  silence.  He  could  feel  her 
trembling  stop. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered  at  last.  "That's  just  it— 
that's  the  only  thing  I  shall  ever  want — in  all  my 
life — and — it  seems  as  if  I — never  wanted  any 
thing  else.  But,  oh  Jimmy  I  Can  we?  Can  we? 
In  your  song — just  now — you  tried  to — lift  me 
with  you.  And — I  tried !  But — you  don't  know 
all  that 'I  am !  Can  I  come?  Can  I?" 

"You  serious  little  sweetheart.    Don't  Ilknow  all 


210     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

that  you  are?  Who  made  all  the  good  there  is  in 
me?  Who  got  me  dreaming  of  life  ahead — of 
songs— all  songs — without  one  false  note — all 
true! — Songs  that  are  just  like  you.  Why,  that's 
just  why  I  love  you — because  you  are  true — with 
out  one  false  note — all  true  1" 

"And  I  love  you,11  how  strangely  quiet  her  voice 
was  now,  "not  because  you  are  true — not  for  what 
you  are — but  for  what  I  know  you  want  to  be.  And 
whether  you  are  true  or  false  to  this — I  will  al 
ways  love  you.  But  you — you  will  be  true !  To 
the  Big  Beauties — true !  You  must — you  must — 
yon — no  matter  what  happens  to  any  one  else !" 

A  long  silence. 

"Oh  Jimmy!"  she  whispered,  "I  was  so  happy 
to-night — and  now  you  have  made  me  so  strong 
again.1' 

She  pressed  his  hand  to  her  cheek. 

"So  strong — even  stronger  than  you  think.  I've 
just  made  a  nice  little  plan- — I  must  think  it  all  out 
by  myself.  So  sing — while  I  think." 

And  Jim  sang  softly  while  Gretchen  lay  back  in 
the  darkness,  staring  into  the  fire — thinking. 

The  next  day  she  began  working  much  harder. 

He  found  her  sewing  long  before  breakfast,  she 
was  sewing  when  he  went  to  his  lesson  and  still 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      2 1 1 

when  he  came  back.  He  made  her  go  out  in  the 
afternoon  for  a  walk,  but  even  this  she  cut  short  and 
came  home  and  again  began  sewing  at  once;  she 
even  asked  old  Fritz  to  play  while  Jim  sang. 

So  it  was  the  next  day  and  the  next. 

When  Jim  grew  indignant  she  onlylaughed  gaily 
and  told  him  the  extra  work  was  for  a  young  lady 
whose  coming-out  tea  was  late  in  November. 
Already  it  was  the  middle  of  the  month, 
and  as  the  time  grew  on,  Gretchen  worked  still 
harder. 

Then  Jim  growled: 

"Isn't  that  infernal  debutante  girl  all  out  yet?" 

"Yes  I"  laughed  Gretchen.  uAnd  she  liked  my 
work  so  well  that  now  I'm  helping  two  more  of  her 
friends  to  get  ready." 

"Why  do  they  get  all  this  without  lifting  a 
hand?"  growled  Jim.  "Why  do  you  get  all  the 
work  and  they  all  the  fun?" 

She  turned  quickly  away  and  laughed  unsteadily. 

"Is  work  so  bad?  You  cross  stupid  old  Jimmy  I 
If  you  only  knew  how  good  it  feels  to  me  just  now 
to  work  like  this — if  you  only  knew!" 

And  growl  as  he  would  he  could  not  deny  that 
the  work  agreed  with  her.  She  seemed  ten  times 
stronger  and  younger  and  closer  to  him  in  the 


212     THE  VOICE  OF.  THE  STREET. 

weeks  that  followed.  It  was  as  though  a  shadow 
had  vanished. 

Even  when  the  monthly  money  from  Berlin  ar 
rived  and  was  only  one-third  of  its  usual  amount, 
she  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised  or  anxious;  she 
only  worked  the  harder. 

Another  month  went  by. 

Again  came  the  money  from  Berlin — one-fourth 
the  regular  amount! 

What  was  to  be  done?  Already  Jim  owed  his 
teacher.  He  had  redoubled  his  copy-work,  but 
even  this  brought  only  half  enough  to  pay  for  the 
lessons. 

He  had  a  long  talk  with  Gretchen ;  he  found  her 
strangely  unwilling  to  clear  things  up,  but  he  made 
her  do  it,  and  they  went  over  all  the  household  ex 
penses. 

They  found  that  the  money  from  Berlin  must 
all  go  into  the  food  and  fuel  and  rent,  and  even 
this  would  not  be  enough — unless 

"Why,  of  course  In  laughed  Jim.  "How  stupid 
of  us  I  We  forgot  all  the  money  you've  been  earn 
ing." 

Gretchen  looked  straight  at  him,  and  never  had 
he  seen  her  blue  eyes  so  dull,  so  expressionless.  Jim 
looked  his  surprise.  Gretchen  smiled. 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      213 

"Wait— I'm  thinking." 

So  she  was — suddenly  thinking  hard. 

"The  ladies  I  work  for  haven't  paid  me  yet — 
that's  all,"  at  last  she  said  simply.  "I'll  work  a 
month  more,  and  then  if  the  money  from  Berlin  is 
so  small  again,  I'll  go  and — collect  all  they  owe 


me." 


In  the  meantime  they  kept  it  from  Fritz.  They 
let  him  go  on  with  his  little  comforts  and  saved  on 
themselves;  they  bought  no  more  flowers,  and  took 
no  more  autumn  trips  to  the  country;  even  the  songs 
were  omitted. 

At  first  they  laughed  over  it,  working  side  by 
side,  he  on  his  copying,  she  on  her  embroidery;  they 
raced  each  other — a  big  sheet  of  music  to  a  soft 
little  linen  handkerchief. 

But  little  by  little  they  grew  silent. 

For  work  and  save  as  they  would,  they  could 
only  fill  out  the  household  expenses; there  was  noth 
ing  left  for  Jim's  lessons. 

The  lessons  stopped.  Jim  worked  harder  and 
grew  thinner  and  whiter  each  day. 

What  was  to  be  done? 
************* 

It  was  long  after  midnight,  and  Jim  had  tossed 
in  his  bed  for  hours. 


214     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Now  he  leaped  up  and  called  himself  a  coward; 
he  drew  deep  breaths  of  sparkling  night  air  at  the 
open  window,  half  dressed,  went  out  by  the  fire 
and  again  bent  over  his  copying.  He  worked  till 
his  fingers  grew  numb  and  his  head  was  throbbing. 
Only  now  and  then  he  stopped — to  listen.  He 
thought  he  heard  Gretchen  awake  and  tossing. 

At  last  she  too  came  out  in  her  wrapper;  and  in 
her  hand  was  a  pile  of  sewing. 

Startled — they  looked  at  each  other  a  moment, 
and  laughed  softly. 

But  more  and  more  unsteady  grew  Gretchen's 
laugh — almost  hysterical,  till  it  stopped  and  she 
stood  staring  down  into  the  coals,  with  her  head 
in  her  hands  on  the  mantel. 

"It  was  foolish  of  me  to  try."  She  spoke  with 
out  turning.  Her  voice  was  hard.  "To  try  work. 
What  can  we  do  just  by  working? — Just  by — 
working." 

Jim  came  to  the  fire  and  put  his  arm  around  her 
shoulders,  but  when  he  touched  her  hand  he 
started;  it  was  moist  and  cold. 

"But  we  will  work,"  he  whispered.  "We  must. 
I  mean  7  must.  You  must  go  easier — youVe  been 
looking  too  tired — little  sweetheart — too  tired — 
you  must  slow  down.  And  I " 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      2 1 5 

He  fell  silent  a  long  time,  slowly  drawing  his 
arm  round  her  tighter. 

"There's  no  other  way,"  he  said  suddenly.  "I 
must  go  back  to  the  'Rip.'  " 

Gretchen  trembled,  but  grew  quiet  and  then 
laughed. 

"How  stupid  you  are  1" 

Again  that  same  old  protecting  note  was  in  her 
voice.  Whatever  struggle  she  had  had  was  ended. 

"You  never  think  of  all  the  money  that's  coming 
from  my  ladies — my  dear,  dear  friends  1" 

She  kissed  him  softly. 

"Everything  will  be  right — Jimmy — very  soon." 

Three  nights  later  she  showed  him  a  thick  roll  of 
crisp  bank  notes — a  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  I 

"I've  been  collecting,"  she  said.  "Now  you  can 
have  back  the  Berlin  money  we  had  to  use  at  home. 
It's  all  yours  now — so  go  back  and  have  lessons 
every  day." 

She  forced  a  smile. 

"And  how  do  we  know?  Perhaps  the  next 
money  from  Berlin  may  be  as  much  as  it  used  to  be. 
So  then  we  can  have  everything  we  want.  And 
we'll  stop  this  foolish  working!" 

Sure  enough — the  next  money  was  even  more 
than  it  had  ever  been. 


216    THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

What  a  relief  it  was  for  Jim.  He  threw  himself 
into  his  singing  twice  as  hard  as  before.  He  felt 
twice  as  strong. 

And  Gretchen  too  had  changed. 

They  had  all  their  country  tramps  and  the  flow 
ers,  and  the  songs  in  the  room  at  twilight. 

************.* 

Dago  Joe  came  often  to  listen. 

He  never  sat  down,  but  stood  with  his  old  slouch 
hat  in  his  hatyl  and  his  head  sunk  in  his  soft  red 
handkerchief. 

Never  by  word  did  he  remind  Jim  of  the  old 
promise  that  they  two  should  grow  famous  to 
gether,  but  often  at  the  end  of  a  song  he  would 
break  out,  describing  how  he  had  been  working  in 
the  little  theatre  whole  nights  by  himself. 

"I  hear  de  song  in  my  head!  I  listen — I  feel  I  I 
find  de  best  beauty — I  maka  de  chords  finer — finer 
dan  hers!"  with  an  impatient  nod  towards 
Gretchen.  "Let  me  play — now  you  sing — I  show  !" 

He  crowded  into  her  place.  And  when  Jim  sang 
Joe  played  these  chords  he  had  made — less  coarse, 
more  soft  and  rich,  but  somehow  wilder  and  sadder 
than  ever  before.  He  clothed  Jim's  "big  glad 
songs"  in  sombre  blacks  and  deep  rich  reds;  under 
it  all  was  the  jerk  and  the  throb  of  the  street. 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      217 

And  always  when  he  sang  with  Joe,  Jim  felt  as 
though  he  were  singing  again  in  saloons  or  the 
"Rip,"  and  in  his  song  the  new  beauties  would  not 
come  out. 

At  first  Joe  would  not  notice  this  and  would 
fiercely  urge  Jim  to  song  after  song.  But  when 
slowly  his  ears  caught  the  emptiness  in  the  voice, 
when  he  played  more  passionately  and  the  voice  did 
not  respond,  then  his  music  would  break  and  die 
away  in  discords. 

And  Joe  would  go  sadly  away. 

Once  when  he  had  gone  and  Gretchen  was  play 
ing  again,  this  same  passionate  longing  and  fear 
rose  up  in  her  music,  too. 

Jim  stopped  her. 

She  kept  looking  at  the  music  before  her  for  a 
moment,  and  then  she  said  gently: 

"I'm  only  foolish  to-night — so  foolish — I  was 
afraid  I — might  be  dropped — like  Joe." 

Her  hand  behind  her  closed  in  his. 

"It  was  foolish — wasn't  it?     Now  I'm  right." 

And  she  played  as  though  Joe  had  never  come  in. 
************* 

One  morning,  coming  home  earlier  than  usual, 
Jim  heard  Joe's  voice  inside,  gruff  and  eager. 
He  went  in,  and  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the 


218     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

other,  Joe  jammed  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  went 
out. 

Gretchen  looked  up. 

"Take  daddy  to  the  opera  to-night,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "I  can't  go.  I  have  to  do  some — work— 
to-night — in  the  house  of  one  of  my  lady — 
friends." 

Suddenly  she  rose  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  with 
none  of  the  humming  songs  that  usually  enlivened 
her  work. 

Jirn  bent  over  his  copy  work — bewildered,  impa 
tient  and  angry  at  her  for  always  keeping  from  him 
this  endless  secret  about  Joe. 

But  then  he  felt  her  two  hands  over  his  eyes,  and 
her  warm  cheek  pressed  against  his. 

"Jimmy!  Sing  to  me!  Sing  better  than  you 
ever  did  before ;  sing  how  much  you  love  me,  how 
you'll  never  leave  me,  how  nothing  that  can  ever 
happen  will  make  any  difference!  Sing  to  me! 
Jimmy — sing — sing !" 

But  at  supper  she  was  quiet  as  before. 

When  Jim  and  Fritz  left  her,  she  hardly  looked 
up  from  her  sewing. 


'Where  are  you  going?" 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      219 

Jim  jumped  up  from  his  copy  work.  It  was 
nightfall  two  weeks  later. 

Gretchen  had  put  on  her  hat  and  coat  in  her 
room,  had  come  quietly  by  him  and  was  already  at 
the  door.  Under  her  arm  was  a  tightly  rolled 
package. 

"What  have  you  there ?"  he  asked. 

"Sewing." 

"You  selfish  little  person.  You  look  guilty  and 
you  ought  to — going  out  after  dark  and  not  even 
giving  me  a  chance." 

"You — mustn't  go!" 

"Oh  yes  I  must!"  Jim  was  already  half  into 
his  coat. 

She  held  it. 

"Jimmy — not  this  time.1' 

"Oh  Gretchen! — look  what  a  glorious  frosty 
night  it  is;  we'll  have  a  bully  fast  walk  and 
come  back  by  that  flower  place  on  Madison 
Square;  I  went  by  this  morning  and  he  has  the 
most  wonderful  little  soft  white  roses,  a  new 
kind " 

"No." 

"I'll  only  buy  two  or  three,  give  you  my  word! 
And  what's  the  use  of  working  all  afternoon  on  this 
wretched  stuff  if  I  can't  buy  you  that  much?  Be- 


220     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

sides — it's  long  after  dark.  You  can't  go  alone  so 
late!" 

"Jimmy.    Not  this  time.    Please." 

Jim  looked  at  her  a  moment  and  then  stowly 
took  off  his  coat. 

She  turned  quickly  and  went  out. 

From  the  window  he  watched  her  go  up  the 
other  side  of  the  street,  walking  quickly  out  of  the 
glare  of  a  corner  arc  light  into  the  shadow  in  the 
middle  of  the  block.  The  shadow  gradually  deep 
ened — like  this  secret  that  had  made  him  each  day 
more  uneasy.  Farther  and  farther  in — she  was 
almost  out  of  sight. 

Jim  suddenly  thr^w  up  the  window  and  leaned 
out. 

Down  toward  the  next  corner  in  the  next  glare 
of  light  was  the  black  mouth  of  an  alley.  He 
watched  to  see  her  pass  it  safely.  Nearer — 
nearer.  He  saw  her  slacken  her  steps  as  though 
afraid. 

She  started  nervously  back.  A  short  figure  had 
shot  out  of  the  alley. 

A  moment  she  stood  motionless — then  walked 
on.  The  figure  went  close  beside  her,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  talking. 

It  was  Dago  Joe. 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      221 

When  Jim  asked  her  about  it  that  night,  he  saw 
her  lip  quiver,  but  the  next  instant  she  was  smil 
ing. 

"Oh  he  was  only — bothering  me — about  that 
horrible  music  of  his!" 

"It's  time  he  stopped  it!"  said  Jim,  sharply. 

All  evening  he  kept  glancing  at  her  uneasily. 


Three  days  later,  again  coming  home  early,  Jim 
saw  Joe  come  out  of  the  tenement  and  go  down  the 
street. 

Jim  followed. 

Joe  loitered  slowly  along. 

But  soon  Jim  grew  suspicious  and  at  last  deeply 
excited.  For  although  Joe  was  only  slouching  along 
slower  than  ever,  carelessly,  with  his  hands  deep  in 
his  loose  ragged  pockets,  Jim,  who  knew  this  neigh 
borhood,  could  see  that  Joe  with  all  his  apparently 
careless  gait  was  steering  for  the  back  door  of  a 
tumble-down  shop  on  Park  Row.  It  was  the  shop 
of  a  "fence." 

A  "fence"  is  a  man  who  receives  stolen  goods. 

When  at  last  Joe  having  passed  and  repassed 
the  door  turned  abruptly  and  went  in,  Jim  waited 
about  one  minute,  then  approached,  bending  double 


222     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

to  keep  below  the  door  window,  threw  the  door 
open  and  rushed  in,  just  in  time  to  see  something 
bright  flash  into  Joe's  bulging  coat-pocket. 

When  Joe  saw  Jim,  all  his  cool  carelessness 
dropped  from  him  and  he  only  stared  stupidly. 

The  "fence"  came  out  smiling,  and  asking  Jim 
what  he  wanted. 

"I  want  this!" 

Jim  plunged  his  hand  in  Joe's  pocket  and 
brought  out  a  heavy  gold  hair  brush.  He  looked 
at  the  initials — the  same  initials  he  had  seen  on  the 
tiny  handkerchiefs  embroidered  by  Gretchenl 

Jim  looked  at  Joe. 

Joe's  eyes  were  still  dazed.  Slowly  Joe's  big 
dirty  hand  went  up  to  his  throat,  and  with  one 
fierce  jerk  loosened  the  red  handkerchief — as 
though  he  could  not  breathe. 

"You  come  with  me!"  said  Jim,  between  his 
teeth. 

Joe  followed.  Jim  walked  steadily  faster,  at 
times  he  almost  ran. 

As  Joe  followed  blindly  and  unsteadily,  his  eyes 
seemed  slowly  clearing.  He  was  thinking  desper 
ately  hard. 

When  they  reached  the  room,  Joe  scowled  threat 
eningly  at  Gretchen,  snatched  the  brush  from  Jim's 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      223 

hand,  and  as  Jim's  eyes  turned  on  him  —  he  sneered  : 

"Why  you  bringa  me  here?     What  can  she 

know?"     He  turned  and  laughed  at  Gretchen. 

"Good  —  always  so  good  —  de  little  fool  !    How  can 


Jim  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"Well?    Then  how  did  you  get  it?" 

Joe  laughed  again  —  a  strange  loud  laugh;  he 
drew  a  newspaper  from  his  inner  pocket,  thrust  it 
in  Jim's  face  and  pointed  to  a  column  headed 
"Burglary  on  Washington  Square!" 

Jim  bent  under  the  lamp  and  read  slowly,  stop 
ping  now  and  then  to  look  at  Gretchen,  each  time 
as  though  dreading  what  he  might  see  any  instant 
in  her  face. 

Gretchen's  face  was  white  and  drawn,  she  stared 
straight  past  Jim  into  the  shadow. 

In  the  shadow  stood  Dago  Joe  holding  her  eyes 
desperately  with  his. 

Only  when  Jim  finished  and  turned  around  did 
she  break  from  Joe's  glare. 

"Jimmy!"  she  cried.    "Listen!    I  -  " 

Rut  Joe  stepped  in  between  them. 

"She's  a  fool  !"  he  cried  fiercely.  "She  know 
nothing  —  you  hear  ?  —  Nothing  !  Look  !"  He 
struck  the  paper  —  wDis  house  —  she  been  dere  to 


224     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

work  many  times.  I  ask,  an'  she  tella  me  all  I  need 
— she  don't  never  think  why  I  wanta  know — she 
tella  me  all  about  de  house — so  last  night  I  corne 
wid  my  gang — we  bust  in — we  steal!  Ah!  You 
— fool!"  He  sneered  again  in  Gretchen's  face. 
'Tool— fool— fool!" 

Under  all  his  furious  sneers  she  could  feel  him 
imploring  her  to  keep  quiet.  Weak  and  quivering, 
she  leaned  back  against  the  mantel. 

But  Jim's  eyes  shone  with  relief. 

Joe  saw  this  and  smiled  bitterly. 

"Well,"  he  cried,  "what  you  do  now?  De  po 
lice?" 

"No!"  cried  Gretchen.  "No,"  she  whispered, 
"not  the  police!" 

"No,"  said  Jim,  "I  can't  do  that.  You'll  have 
to — get  the  other  things  you  took — all — all  in  this 
list,"  he  pointed  to  the  newspaper  and  stopped  to 
think.  "Bring  'em  all  here  so  I  can  see  'em — we'll 
pack  'em  and  send  'em  back — by  express.  That's 
all." 

Joe  walked  slowly  out.  Outside  the  door  he 
turned. 

Jim  was  on  his  knees  by  Gretchen's  chair. 

"Gretchen!"  he  whispered.  "For  a  minute — 
just  for  a  minute  I  thought — oh — God! — 


DAGO  JOE  AND  GRETCHEN      225 

Gretchen !    Say  you  forgive  me !    I'll  never  think 
it  again — never — never!" 

But  Gretchen  only  stared  over  Jim's  head  at  Joe 
in  the  doorway.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  pain  and 
fear,  and  shame  and  deep  reverence. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"THIS  WILL  BE  THE  LAST  I11 

JOE  had  brought  back  the  stolen  goods,  one  by 
one,  and  Jim  had  checked  off  the  whole  list 
and  packed  them  and  sent  them  back  to  the 
house  on  Washington  Square. 

It  was  three  days  later — in  the  evening. 

"Jimmy,"  she  spoke  without  looking  up  from 
her  sewing.  "Has  your  teacher  ever  said  how 
much  longer  it  will  be  before  you  earn  money  by 
your  voice  ?" 

Jim  looked  up  from  his  music. 

"If  I  wait  for  recitals  and  work  like  that,  it 
means  about  a  year  more." 

"I  thought  so.  And  your  teacher — he  wouldn't 
give  you  lessons  for  nothing?" 

Jim  glanced  at  her  impatiently. 

"Why  Gretchen — how  many  others  like  me  do 
you  think  he  has?  He  turns  away  over  a  hundred 
pupils  a  year.  I'm  lucky  to  be  there  at  all.  But — 
why  are  you  asking  all  this?" 

2*6 


THIS  WILL  BE  THE.AST1 


" 


"Because,"  said  Gretchen  slowly  —  still  sewing, 
"the  money  from  Berlin  hasn't  come." 

Jim  laughed. 

"Well  —  suppose  it  hasn't.  It  was  only  due  three 
days  ago.  Give  it  time.  It'll  come  all  right." 

Gretchen  was  silent  —  sewing  harder. 

She  reached  out  for  some  more  thread. 

"Yes,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "it  must  come  —  of 


course." 


Again  silence. 

Jim  sat  over  his  copying,  trying  to  work,  but 
glancing  at  her  every  few  minutes.  He  could  see 
she  wanted  to  tell  him  the  thing  in  her  mind.  She 
was  smiling  to  herself,  twice  she  started  to  speak, 
but  stopped. 

At  last  he  leaned  over. 

"Come  on — what's  the  joke?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  uncertainly. 

"Why  yes,"  she  said,  "why  not?  Jimmy — what 
do  you  think?  Those  people  a£  the  house  Joe 
broke  into — they  suspected  me  of  the  stealing" 

"What?" 

At  Jim's  low  tense  voice  the  laugh  in  her  eyes 
vanished. 

"Don't — Jimmy — don't  worry.  They're  stupid 
fools— all  of  them.  Even  if  I  were  a  thief  they 


228     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

could  never  catch  me.     You  ought  to  have  heard 
their  questions,  they  were  so  afraid  of  hurting  my 

feelings — because  I  was  such  a  'good  honest  girl.1  ' 
************* 

The  next  evening  she  had  completely  changed. 

She  sat  sewing  fast,  her  face  bent  far  over.  But 
Jim  could  see,  in  glimpses,  how  intense  and  excited 
was  the  look  in  her  eyes — big  and  round  to-night. 
They  kept  flashing  and  snapping,  with  joyous  angry 
confidence,  seeing  something  definite  and  close  and 
sure,  forgetting  all  else. 

"And  this  will  be  the  last!"  she  said  suddenly — 
thinking  aloud. 

"What  will?" 

Jim  had  sprung  up  from  his  chair.  So  had 
Gretchen.  Each  looked  so  startled  that  as  they 
stood  watching  each  other  they  burst  out  laughing. 

"Last — what?"  asked  Jim  greatly  relieved. 
"Sewing?" 

"Of  course !"  cried  Gretchen.  "How  clever  you 
are!" 

She  held  up  a  rich  heavy  napkin  on  which  she 
had  been  embroidering  initials. 

"This  is  the  last  thing  I'll  ever  sew  for  any  of 
them !  It's  for  Miss  Louise ! — Oh !  What  do  you 
think?  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I — She's  going  to  be 


"THIS  WILL  BE  THE  LAST!"      229 

married — to-morrow !  And  you  ought  to  sec  the 
presents,  they  fill  four  rooms,  silver  and  gold, 
dishes,  tea-pots,  pictures,  things  from  Paris,  Italy, 
Dresden — Oh  all  the  best  things  from  all  the  best 
places !" 

Jim's  face  darkened. 

"What  has  she  ever  done  for  all  this?" 

Gretchen  looked  up  slowly. 

"It  does  seem  a  waste — doesn't  it?  She's  only 
a  child — a  spoiled  child.  She's  kind  enough;  she 
trusts  me — she  lets  me  go  through  the  present 

rooms — all  by  myself.  But "  she  bent  over 

her  work.  "What  good — do  so  many  things  do 
her?  Why — does  she  need —three — gold  tea 
pots?" 

She  gave  a  quick  laugh. 

"But  what  do  I  care  for  all  that? — Jimmy! 
Don't  you  dare  to  look  so  black!  Besides — " 
her  voice  sank  to  low  mock-solemn  tones,  "the 
money  from  Berlin — arrives — to-morrow! — Wait! 
— Listen  ! — The  letter  came  to-day.  He  says  that 
from  now  on  he  will  stop  sending  money  each 
month,  but  instead  he  will  send — once  for  all — so 
much  money — Oh  Jimmy,  so  much!  And  all  at 
once,  to  be  invested  and  kept  for  us  by  a  lawyer 
here.  I  am  to  see  the  lawyer  to-monow.  You 


23o     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

remember,  he  never  wanted  daddy  to  know  about 
the  money,  so  now  in  the  letter  he  makes  me  prom- 
Ise  to  go  to  the  lawyer  alone— to-morrow— after 
noon  !  And  after  that  we'll  be  so  safe— don't  you 
see — until  your  voice  earns  all  we  need!" 

She  turned  her  face  to  his  and  looked  at  him  in 
the  strangest  eager  way. 

"So  safe,"  she  said— very  low — smiling.  "Isn't 
that  worth — anything?" 

************* 

Long  after  old  Fritz  had  gone  to  bed,  she  lay  in 
the  big  chair— in  Jim's  arms,  gazing  at  pictures, 
deep  in  the  coals. 

She  was  very  quiet. 

Only  now  and  then  she  shivered  slightly. 

To-morrow. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"YOU   WILL   NEVER  GIVE   UP — IF  YOU   LOVE   ME" 

TICK-TICK.    Tick-tick. 
Jim  kept  glancing  up  from  his  work  at 
the  old  brown  clock  on  the  mantel.    It  was 
nearly  four  o'clock  the  next  day,  and  still  she  had 
not  come  back. 

Tick-tick.    Tick-tick. 

The  shadows  crept  up  from  the  corners  of  the 
room — darker  and  darker. 
The  clock  struck  four. 

Jim  started,  glanced  up  uneasily,  and  went  on 
working. 

The  shadows  crept  silently  on.  Again  and  again 
he  glanced  round,  shook  them  off  impatiently,  and 
went  on  working.  He  never  thought  of*  lighting 
the  lamp,  but  strained  his  eyes,  bending  closer, 
fighting  the  shadows  away.  Once  he  laughed — but 
stopped  abruptly  and  went  on  working. 

A  whistle — gay  and  high  and  tremulous,  floated 

231 


232     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

up  the  stairs.  A  wave  of  relief  swept  over  Jim; 
he  jumped  up  and  ran  out  to  the  landing  and  leaned 
over  as  old  Fritz  came  up. 

"Veil!  Vere  ees  Gretchen?"  asked  Fritz,  puff- 
ing  up  the  last  flight. 

"Out— but  she'll  be  back  soon  I" 

Jim  was  suddenly  easy  and  joyous.  Of  course 
she  would,  what  a  fool  he  had  been !  He  helped 
Fritz  light  the  lamp,  and  at  once  the  soft  yellow 
light  melted  the  shadows  away. 

But  when  the  clock  struck  five,  the  worries  rose 
again.  Jim  laugh:d  them  down.  They  rose  faster! 

At  last  old  Fritz  took  out  his  fiddle,  fondled  it 
awhile  and  then  tucked  it  under  his  chin. 

************* 

At  that  moment,  up  the  stairs  came  heavy  stumb 
ling  steps. 

Jim  rose  slowly — listening. 

"It's  Joe  !"  he  cried  sharply. 

"Well?"  he  asked— running  out.  "What's 
wrong?" 

"No !    Not  you  I"  panted  Joe,  trying  to  squeeze 

by' 

But  Jim  jammed  him  against  the  door  and  asked, 

in  a  whisper: 


"NEVER  GIVE  UP"  233 

"Is  this  about — Gretchen?" 

Joe  nodded.  His  big  blood-shot  eyes  glared  up, 
he  gave  a  short  reckless  excited  laugh,  and  then  all 
the  jealousy  of  years  flamed  in  his  eyes. 

"Caught!"  he  cried.  "She — so  good — so  nice! 
She— caught!" 

Jim's  fist  flashed  back  and  swung  and  struck,  and 
Joe  reeled  against  the  wall. 

"Vot  ees  it?  Quick!"  cried  old  Fritz.  "Vot 
you  mean?" 

"She  steal."  Joe's  voice  now  was  low.  "She 
steal — an1  she  be — sent  to  jail.  Lika — me! — a 
thief — lika  me!" 

Jim  snatched  up  his  hat  and  turned  to  Joe. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"No!"  Joe  smiled  triumphantly.  "No!  Not 
you!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"She  say — if  you  love  her — you  show  now — you 
do  as  she  ask — you  wait  here." 

He  turned  to  Fritz. 

"You  she  want.   She  want  you  come  quick — wid 


me." 


Old  Fritz  was  standing  straight  and  stiff.  One 
hand  at  his  side  gripped  the  neck  of  the  fiddle,  the 
other  held  Gretchen's  work-bag.  His  white  head 


234     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

was  thrown  back  and  his  little  blue  eyes  gleamed 
proudly. 

"Caught!"  His  voice  was  harsh  and  vibrating 
with  sudden  strength.  "By  lies !  You  hear? — So ! 
Remember — by  lies — Ve  must  be  strong — ve  must 
be  quick  und  careful — und  also  wise — all  at  once! 
So!" 

He  spoke  faster — turning  to  Joe. 

"Caught?  Yes — so  you  say,  und  I  believe  you 
— you  are  mein  friend — you  vill  help  me — I  can 
see  it — so  already  I  believe  you.  Remember! 
Caught — by  lies!  She  ecs  goot — true — pure — so 
fine — so  beauty — so  young — so  sweet !  Caught  by 
lies — lies— lies!  Come — ve  must  be  quick — wise 
— strong!" 

lie  struggled  into  his  overcoat,  then  paused — 
bewildered,  with  his  fiddle  in  one  hand  and  Gretch- 
en's  bag  in  the  other.  He  looked  at  the  fiddle  and 
put  it  down,  he  looked  at  the  work-bag  and  then 
solemnly  up  at  Joe. 

"Maybe — she  vants — de  bag  alreatty?" 

Joe  impatiently  shook  his  head. 

"Veil!  Shoost  as  you  say!"  Fritz  smiled  eag 
erly.  "Siioost  as  you  say !" 

He  put  down  the  bag  and  took  Joe's  arm  and 
started  out.  At  the  door  he  turned  to  Jim. 


"NEFER  GIVE  UF>  235 

"Lies!"  smiled  Fritz.     "Caught  by  lies!" 
He  turned — blindly,  struck  against  the  doorway 

— smiled — and  went  out. 

Jim  heard  their  quick  steps  down  the  stairs,  the 

door  slammed,  and  Jim  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

************* 

Tick-tick.    Tick-tick. 

The  shadows — darker,  ever  darker,  crept  in 
around  him. 

He  looked  impatiently  at  the  lamp,  it  was  sud 
denly  dim  and  smoking.  Why?  Laboriously  he 
thought  it  out.  She  must  have  forgotten  to  fill  it. 

"No  wonder !"  He  drew  a  deep  shivering  breath 
and  gripped  the  chair  to  stop  the  whirling.  "No 
wonder!" 

Now  the  room  was  almost  dark,  with  only  a 
faint  red  glimmer  from  the  lamp.  Vaguely  he  felt 
it  there — the  ruin  of  her  life — ruin — all  ruin  !  Her 
words  came  again. 

"After  to-morrow  your  voice  will  be  safe — so 
safe.  Isn't  that  worth  anything?" 

He  repeated  it  many  times,  dully  at  first,  but 
then  with  swiftly  increasing  bitterness  as  he  saw  all 
back  through  the  months  the  slow  secret  sacrifice, 
the  smashing  of  all  her  pure  simple  morality, 


236     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

And  why?  Why?  Back  into  the  years  behind, 
back  into  the  throb  and  waste  and  gambling ! 

Suddenly  through  the  window  burst  the  blue 
hard  glare  from  the  street  just  lighted. 

The  street!  How  the  memories  rushed  in  and 
burned.  How  clear  it  all  was  in  an  instant !  Jim 
sprang  up  with  a  low  cry  of  agony. 

"No!  Wait!— It  can't  be— that !"  he  whis 
pered.  "Not— that?" 

He  stood  rigid,  trembling,  cold. 

Yes — that  was  it.  Lucky  Jim  the  Gambler — 
slowly  settling  down  on  her  life — burning  her  up 
through  the  years.  The  street  had  crept  from  his 
blood  into  hers ! 


It  seemed  as  though  heavy  empty  ages  had  gone 
by,  when  at  last  he  heard  the  voice  of  old  Fritz. 

The  voice  was  so  strong  and  hard  and  vibrating 
that  Jim  looked  up,  bewildered. 

Fritz  stood  before  him. 

"Mein  child  und  me — togedder— ve  are  a  thief! 
Ve  steal — to  safe  your  voice.  Ve  steal — und  she 
ees  caught — und  now  she  go  to  prison  avay.  Und 
she  ask  you — dot  you — neffer  see — her  face — 
neffer!" 


"NEVER  GIVE  UP"  237 

Silence. 

"No!"  Jim  whispered — he  stared  imploringly 
up  in  the  darkness.  "No! — She — why,  she  couldn't 
have  said  that — she  couldn't  have." 

He  leaped  up  and  seized  the  old  man  by  the 
shoulders. 

"She  never  said  it !    You  lie — you  know  you  lie  I 
I  can't  live  without  her — do  you  hear?    I  can't — 
live!" 

"I  tell  you  true." 

Fritz  spoke  very  low ;  for  an  instant  he  seemed  to 
hesitate,  but  then  held  to  his  plan. 

"She  vill  neffer  see  you.  To-morrow — she  goes 
to — prison  avay.  She  says  you  baf  burned  up  all 
her  life.  She  says  if  you  haf  any  love  in  your  heart 
— you  show  dot  love  now — you  keep  avay." 

His  voice  broke.  He  put  his  arm  around  Jim's 
neck. 

"But  you  must  not  die — you  must  live! — Ve 
must  live  so  ve  safe  her  life! — Your  voice — it  ees 
her  voice  now ! — You  vill  vork  hard,  you  vill  safe 
dot  voice.  Und  maybe — some  day  she  vill  change. 
Her  love  for  you  vill  come  back." 

His  voice  rose  deep  and  ringing  again. 

"So!  Ve  must  live — be  strong — be  brave — be 
true!" 


238     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Jim  squeezed  both  Fritz's  hands  slowly  tighter. 
"Yes,"  he  said  at  last.    "We  will  do— all  that— 

all.11 

A  dull  silence. 

"She's— not  in  jail?" 

"No— Miss  Louise  was  kind.     No  policemens. 
She  ees  dere — in  a  room." 

"That's  good." 

Jim  stood  staring  into  Fritz's  eyes,  trying  to  re 
member  something. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  smiled.    "You  must  be  tired." 

He  spoke  in  a  dull  monotone. 

"Over  here — that's  right — wait — a  pillow- 
now — good." 

He  went  into  the  kitchen  and  started  the  tea-pot, 
came  back  and  coaxed  up  the  fire  in  the  grate, 
brought  tea  and  bread  and  butter  and  put  it  on  the 
little  table  in  front  of  Fritz's  chair. 

Fritz  and  Jim  looked  hopelessly  at  the  pot  and 
the  cup  and  the  bread. 

At  last  Fritz  glanced  up  and  smiled  and  drew 
Jim's  hand  down  into  his,  and  they  stared  into  the 

fire. 

Jim  stood  there  a  long  time,  only  now  and  then 
squeezing  Fritz's  hands  slowly  tighter. 

The  clock  struck  eleven. 


"NEPER  GIVE  UP"  239 

Jim  started  nervously  and  began  walking  the 
room. 

Once  he  glanced  at  old  Fritz,  stopped  and  list 
ened,  and  stole  behind  the  chair.  Fritz's  eyes  were 
closed. 

"  Asleep?" 

Old  Fritz  sprang  up. 

"She  und  me  togedder — togedder  a  thief!  Frau- 
lein  Louisa — let  me  show  you — how  it  ees — vy 
she "  he  fell  back,  breathing  hard. 

Jim  leaned  over  close  and  tried  to  lift  him. 

"Come  to  bed,"  he  whispered,  "you — you  are 
to — see  her — to-morrow.  You  must  sleep  now — 
get  strong.  Come." 

"No!"  the  old  voice  was  loud  again.  "I  am 
not  tired,  und  ncffer  vill  I  be — till  she  gets  back 
her  life  alreatty  again.  Ncffer  tired !  I  only  think 
— vot  I  say — vot  I  do !" 

His  head  sank  again  on  his  breast  and  he  looked 
again  into  the  coals,  as  though  searching  the  wise 
old  fire  for  aid. 

"Jimmy,"  he  said  at  last — speaking  low,  "I  haf 
told  you?  You  understand?  Vot  you  must  do?" 

"Yes,"  Jim  whispered,  "I  understand.  I  will 
do  it." 

He  began  walking  again. 


24o     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

At  midnight  he  took  his  hat  and  went  out,  and 
for  hours  he  walked  down  along  the  North  River 
docks,  by  the  flower  stalls  that  were  now  closed  and 
empty. 

When  he  came  back  he  began  to  write  at  the 
table.  Again  and  again  he  tore  up  what  he  had 
written,  and  when  at  last  he  had  written  what  he 
wanted,  he  read  it  slowly  many  times  to  make  sure. 

He  went  softly  to  the  big  chair. 

Old  Fritz  sat  with  his  head  on  his  breast  as  be 
fore,  gripping  the  brown  arms  of  the  chair  till  the 
veins  on  his  wrinkled  hands  stood  out  big  and  blue; 
and  his  eyes  were  still  searching  the  coals. 

Jim  laid  the  letter  in  Fritz's  lap. 

Fritz  roused  sharply,  took  the  letter  and  read  it 
slowly. 

" You'll  take  it  to  her?"  asked  Jim,  quietly.  "It 
isn't  much — is  it?  Just  to  try?  She  might  feel 
like  doing  it — she  might.  You  know  that.  So 
take  it — won't  you?" 

Fritz  bent  as  if  reading  closer. 

"You  know  she  might!"  Jim  whispered  fiercely. 
"Love  like  hers  can't  be  killed  so  quick!  And  if 
there's  any  left  I  want  it!  I  want  her  to  say  I  can 
wait  for  her,  work  for  her,  be  ready  with  the  voice 
— her  voice — and  life  and  everything — when  she 


"NEVER  GIVE  UP" 

comes  out.  She  might  say  it!  You  know  she 
might!  Will  you  take  it?" 

"Yes." 

Fritz  looked  up — his  eyes  dry  as  before. 

Jim  went  out  again  and  walked  the  streets  until 
morning.  And  when  he  came  back  Fritz  was  gone. 

Late  that  afternoon  Fritz  came  back  and  gave 
him  a  paper  on  which  these  words  had  been  written 
in  a  firm  steady  hand: 


"When  you  think — you  will  understand.  You 
have  made  my  whole  life  black — I  have  lost  all  I 
believed  in.  If  you  could  see  me  as  I  am  you  would 
see  what  you  have  done — I  am  all  changed — you 
would  not  love  me  now.  I  do  not  love  you.  I  can 
never  love  you.  You  must  never  see  me  again. 

"But  I  love  your  voice.  And  if  you  love  me  still 
you  will  work  on  your  voice  as  you  have  never 
worked  before — you  will  make  the  voice  do  all 
we  ever  dreamed — you  will  work — you  will  make 
new  strong  friends  who  will  help  you — you  will 
make  yourself  live  again  a  full  rich  life  with  friends 
and  gladness  and  beauty.  For  if  you  do  not  live 
so — then  you  cannot  sing.  The  voice  must  not  be 
gloomy  and  weak.  You  must  make  it  glad  and 


242     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

pure  and  rich  and  always  strong.    You  must  live — 
you  must  work — you  must  sing. 

"You  will  never  give  up — if  you  love  me." 
************* 

Jim  read  it  many  times,  his  black  eyes  slowly 
clearing,  his  broad  face  setting  hard. 

At  last  he  put  it  away  and  stood  there  a  moment 
staring  at  Fritz,  but  seeing  nothing. 

Suddenly  he  smiled. 

"No — she  doesn't  mean  this.  She — can't  feel 
like  this.  I  never  love  her?  She  never  love  me? 
No." 

The  smile  slowly  faded  from  his  lips. 

"I  say  she  can't!"  he  cried — leaping  up.  "Do 
you  hear?  She  can't!  There's  something  hidden! 
What  is  it?  You  must  know — and  you — won't  lie 
to  me  at  a  time  like  this — you  can't!  What  is  it?" 

Fritz  looked  down  for  a  moment  and  then  his 
eyes  met  Jim's  quietly. 

"Her  mind  ees  made  up.  She  vill  neffer  see  you 
-neffer." 

Jim  seized  his  hat  and  started  out. 

"Jimmy!    Vere  you  go?" 

"To  find  out  the  truth — from  Dago  Joe!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"A  THIEF  LIKA  ME!      SHE  HATE  YOU  1" 

IN  the  little  Italian  theatre  one  yellow  gas-jet 
still  flared,  down  by  the  stage.    And  under 
it,  with  his  head  in  his  arms  on  the  keys  of 
the  old  low  piano,  sat  the  Italian. 
"Joe!" 

At  Jim's  sharp  cry  Joe  sprang  up — quivering, 
then  sank  back  on  the  stool,  with  his  back  to  the 
keys  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  Jim,  who  came  quickly 
down  the  aisle. 

Jim  stopped,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  in 

silence. 

"Joe,"  said  Jim,  at  last,  trying  to  speak  low, 
though  his  voice  shook  with  suspense,  "you  and 
me  have — always  been  chums! — Haven't  we?" 

Joe  nodded— licking  his  thick  dry  lips. 

"Then  Joe — tell  me — everything.  Don't  leave 
a  thing  out — from  the  beginning." 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  his  voice  sounding  strange  and 
hoarse,  "I  tell  you — from  de  begin." 

He  turned  and  pressed  his  big  hands  slowly  down 


244     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

on  the  keys  and  stared  at  them;  and  drew  a  long 
deep  breath. 

"When   me   an*  you — was  kids — we   made   a 

plan.'11 

"Leave  it  out!"  cried  Jim.  "All  that!  Can't 
you  see  it's  only  her  I  want  to  hear  about?" 

-Only— her." 

Joe  spoke  the  last  word  between  his  teeth. 

"But  I — I  wanta  tell — about  me/ — Me  an*  you 
we — made  a  plan.  You  say  to  me — 'We  will  go 
all  our  lives — I  sing — you  play.'  Jest  you  an'  me  I 
— So — we  begin." 

He  looked  up  fiercely. 

"Say!  Did  I  play  good?  Did  I  work  hard — 
right  here  in  dis  place?  Did  I  wanta  you  sing  only 
good — only  glad,  glad  beauty?  Did  I  learn  you 
de  big  glad  songs — from  my  countree?" 

He  stopped — breathing  hard — and  went  on 
slowly: 

"De  old  Dutch — he  come.  You  go  wid  him — 
you  sing  de  sleepy  song — no  fire — only  Dutch.  I 
watch — I  listen — I  see  you  lova  him  hard.  But  do 
I  care?  No!  I  see  you  leave  de  dice — you  getta 
strong — an'  I  was  glad ! 

"De  man  at  de  'Rip' — he  come.  He  taka  de 
voice  in  his  sweatshop.  He  sweat  de  voice !  I  hear  I 


"SHE  HATE  YOU!"  245 

De  voice  get  bad — I  tella  you  to  stop — he  hear — I 
lose  my  job — I  come  outside — I  listen!  De  voice 
— get  worse — worse — worse — go  all  to  hell  1 — An' 
so  I  burn — de  sweatshop/* 

A  moment  he  was  silent — his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
keys.  Then  he  went  on — huskily  and  low : 

uBut — it  will  not  burn  enough! — Some  years  go 
by.  De  man  he  come  again — so  soft — so  smooth 
— so  kind.  He  catch  de  voice — I  don't  know  how. 
I  only  hear — de  voice  at  first  go  up  so  fine — so  big 
— an'  I  was  glad.  De  wise  smooth  man  he  smile. 
Again  he  burn  de  voice — so  slow — so  kind!  I 
don't  know  how.  I  only  hear  de  voice  come  down 
— down — down  ! 

"An'  I — what  I  do?  I  must  get  money  quick. 
I  steal — I  giva  you — but — no  good.  De  man  wid 
his  sweatshop  put  fire  in  your  voice — de  fire  sink 
into  your  soul.  You  go  to  Wall  Street — play  big 
dice — play — play — de  money  go. 

"What  can  I  do?  I  steal  again — I  bring  de 
money — to  her — so  you  won't  spend. 

"She  think  my  money  bad  because  I  steal !  Bad? 
Bad  when  it  save  de  voice? 

"But  soon  I  show.  She  see.  She  take.  A  week 
goby. 

"An'  now — she  steal  too.     She  bring  me  what 


246     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

she  steal — I  sell.  She  steal  again — I  sell.  You 
stop  de  dice — you  stop  de  'Rip' — de  voice  get  well  1 
Why  was  it  bad?  Why?11 

Joe  suddenly  rose  and  faced  Jim  and  spoke  fast. 

"Den — you  see  me  sell  what  she  steal — you 
bring  me — to  her — she  get  scare — she  come  soon 
to  me — she  say  she  try  one  more  big  steal — so  big 
she  get  all  de  money  she  need — so  she  can  stop. 
She  try — de  big  wedding — she  say  if  she  win  she 
come  quick  to  me  in  de  alley  so  near.  If  she  not 
come  I  know  she  is  caught — an'  den  I  must  come  to 
you — I  must  get  de  old  man — but  I  maka  you  stay 
away." 

Jim  leaned  closer  and  gripped  Joe's  ragged 
shoulders. 

"Why?"  he  cried.  "Why  did  she  want  me  to 
stay  away?  Why?  She  must  have  said!" 

Joe's  big  face  set  hard  and  his  voice  again  was 
low  and  husky. 

"If  she — still  lova  you — will  you  wait?  An' 
when  she  comes  out— will  you  sing  an'  she  play? 
So?" 

In  Joe's  dull  eyes  the  jealousy  blazed  again. 

"You  know  I  will."  Jim's  voice  shook.  "It's 
all  my  life.  So — if  she  did — if  she  did  say — you'll 
tell — you  won't  hide  it.  Joe — We've  always  been 


"SHE  HATE  YOUr  247 

chums — you've  done  everything  for  me — you'd 
give  your  life  if  I  needed  it — you  would ! — But  this 
is  more  than  all — all  my  life.  You  won't  steal  it 
—you'll  tell  me." 

Joe  sprang  back. 

"No!  I  tella  you  only  dis!  She  go  now  to  jail 
for  many  year!  A  thief — lika  me!  She  hate  you 
— yes — hate  you !  She  is  gone !  You  see  her  now 
— never — never!  You  hear?  Never!" 

Jim  took  Joe's  head  in  both  his  hands  and  bent  it 
slowly  up  and  searched  Joe's  eyes — which  glared. 

"Hate  you!"  Joe  snarled.  "Why?  Because 
she's  bad  all  through!" 

He  stopped  abruptly. 

There  was  a  long  silence.    Jim's  head  sank. 

Then  Joe  put  his  hand  gently  on  Jim's  shoulder, 
and  now  his  thick  voice  was  very  low  and  humble. 

"Jim." 

He  waited  in  vain  for  a  sign  of  response. 

"Jim — You  must  sing — Jim — sing  hard.  An' 
I?  Shall  I  play?" 

Still  no  answer. 

"Jim — Soon  you  will  not  burn  any  more  in  de 
head.  I  know — de  mens  in  my  countree — -dey  love 
— dey  lose — dey  burn  inside.  But — so  soon — dey 
get  all  well — all  glad  again !  Jim — you  must  sing. 


248     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

De  voice — we  make  him  go  up — into  big  giad 
songs  f — Me  an1  you  ? — Jim  ? — You  sing  ?  I  play  ? 
—Jim?" 

Jim  shook  off  the  hand  and  turned  away. 
"No."     His  voice  was  old  and  empty.     "You 
and  me  can — never  sing  together." 

Joe  sprang  forward,  gripping  Jim's  arm. 

"Why?"  he  whispered. 

"Because — you — you've  always  tried  to  do  me 
good.  But — youVe  done  only — bad.  You've 
killed  her — so  now  you've— killed  me  too! — I'll 
sing  because — she  wants  it.  I'll  try  to  sing  better 
than  any  man  has — ever  sung.  Because  it's — her 
voice.  But  I  can  never  sing — with  you.  I  can 
never  see  you  after  this. 

"You'll — think  this  o^er.  You'll  see  why  I 
can't.  You'll — never — come  near  me — again! — 
Good-by  Joe — Quit  stealing! — It  can  do  a  lot  of 
— harm  ! — Good-by !" 

Jim  suddenly  turned  back  and  took  Joe's  hand 
and  wrung  it  hard. 

"Good-by!    Joe!    Good-by!"  he  whispered. 

lie  turned  and  went  slowly  up  the  narrow  aisle. 

And  Joe — plunging  his  shaggy  head  down  on 
his  elbows  over  the  keys,  sat  motionless  all  night. 

Beginning  to  think  it  over. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


"l  MYSELF  WILL  BE  NOTHING.    I  WILL  ONLY  SING." 


AT  ho:ne,  just  before  dawn,  Jim  wrote  this 
letter: 

"1  will  love  you  always.  I  will  sing  al 
ways  as  though  you  are  listening.  I  will  do  every 
thing  I  can  think  of  to  make  the  voice  the  best  it 
could  ever  have  been  made  even  if  you  had  loved 
me  all  my  life.  I  will  shut  off  everything  in  the 
world  that  might  stop  the  voice.  Because  the  voice 
is  yours.  I  myself  will  be  nothing.  I  will  only 
sing.  I  will  never  write  to  you  again.  I  will  never 
ask  you  to  see  me.  Good-by.  I  love  you." 

He  wrote  very  slowly  but  without  stopping. 

He  went  to  bed,  his  limbs  ached  and  twitched 
from  exhaustion,  but  he  lay  very  quiet — thinking. 

In  two  hours  he  rose  and  came  out,  tore  open 
the  envelope  and  sat  with  his  letter  and  hers,  now 
reading  one  and  now  the  other.  He  read  very 
carefully,  stopping  to  read  over  each  sentence  many 

*49 


250     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

times,  as  though  to  make  sure  he  had  left  out  noth 
ing. 

When  he  heard  Fritz  rising,  he  jumped  up,  went 
into  the  kitchen  and  made  coffee  and  toast.  It  was 
the  second  meal  since  she  had  gone.  The  first  had 
been  tea  and  toast.  Jim  looked  around,  hopelessly, 
picked  up  a  big  chunk  of  cheese  and  put  it  on  the 
tray. 

When  Fritz  started  to  go,  Jim  gave  him  the 
letter. 

When  the  old  man  was  gone  out,  Jim  sat  look 
ing  into  the  fire. 

At  last  he  went  to  the  piano  and  began  slowly 
turning  sheet  after  sheet  of  the  old  music,  stopping 
over  some  pages  a  long  time. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  went  out;  he  went  uptown 
to  his  teacher  and  said: 

"I  have  no  money  now  except  what  I  make  on 
copy  work.  I  need  all  that  to  support  an  old  man 
and  myself.  But  I  am  strong;  I  can  do  the 
copying  at  night,  and  do  other  work  in  the  day 
time  to  pay  for  my  lessons.  You  have  rich 
friends  who  can  give  me  a  job.  I  will  try  any 
thing." 

The  teacher  was  silent,  watching  Jim  closely. 

"I  know  about  your  trouble/*  he  said  at  last, 


"/  WILL  ONLY  SING"  251 

speaking  very  low.  "My  boy — take  care  you  don't 
burn  up." 

"I  must  work  to  sing." 

"Yes — but  you  must  work  only  on  your  voice. 
You  will  pay  nothing  to  me  for  your  lessons.  I  can 
not  tell  you  now,  but  you  have  friends  who  have 
heard  of — what  has  happened,  and  they  have  ar 
ranged  that  you  have  lessons  until  you  begin  on  re 
citals." 

This  surprising  news  Jim  received  with  a  look  so 
dull  that  the  teacher  drew  nearer  and  put  his  hand 
on  Jim's  shoulder. 

"My  boy — if  you  will  only  do  as  I  say — you  will 
sing  in  public  one  year  from  now.  If  you  do  as 
you  are  beginning  to  do,  burn  your  life  up  by  double 
work  to  forget  your  pain,  then  your  voice  will  burn 
up  too." 

"No,"  said  Jim.  "My  voice  will  never  fail.  You 
will  be  surprised  how  it  will  sound.  I  don't  know 
who  my  friends  are.  I  don't  care.  Please  tell  them 
their  money  will  not  be  wasted." 

The  teacher  looked  at  Jim  in  amazement.  It 
seemed  as  though  a  different  person  were  speaking. 

************* 
In  the  next  few  weeks,  in  the  months  of  spring, 


252     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

and  through  the  long  hot  summer,  Jim  hardly  left 
the  old  room. 

He  worked  on  his  copying  seven  hours  a  day, 
old  Fritz  worked  three  hours,  and  between  them 
they  could  just  pay  for  rent  and  fuel  and  food. 

When  Fritz  saw  how  hard  Jim  was  working  he 
suggested  that  they  move  to  cheaper  rooms,  but 
Jim  looked  up  with  such  sudden  loneliness  and 
agony  in  his  eyes  that  Fritz  never  tried  it  again. 

Then — watching  Jim's  shoulders  bend  and  his 
coat  hang  looser  on  his  body,  old  Fritz  tried  hard 
to  take  more  of  the  copying  himself;  he  increased 
to  four  hours  a  day. 

Jim  only  worked  the  harder.  When  Fritz  beg 
ged  him  to  work  less,  when  his  teacher  sternly 
warned  him  to  work  less,  Jim  smiled.  He  told 
them  he  had  never  felt  so  strong. 

"If  you  don't  believe  it,"  he  would  say  with  a 
smile,  "listen  to  my  voice." 

And  surely  in  that  resonant  rich  vibrating  voice 
was  no  sign  of  weakness.  Only  deep  wild  sorrow, 
only  the  striving  to  live,  only  desperate  gladness. 

As  Fritz  watched  Jim,  so  Jim  watched  Fritz — 
constantly  and  anxiously.  Jim  was  always  trying 
to  cook  the  little  German  dainties  she  had  made  for 
her  father.  The  little  kitchen  saw  strange  scenes, 


"/  WILL  ONLY  SING'9  253 

a  huge  dark,  young  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  his 
broad  face  gaunt  and  solemn,  and  his  eyes  eagerly 
fixed  on  a  brand-new  receipt  book;  it  heard  loud 
careless  whistling,  soft  careful  swearing,  sudden 
cries  of  wrath,  long  looks  of  disappointment;  and 
sometimes  a  voice  discouraged,  desperate,  lonely — 
and  reverent — whispering: 

"Oh  but  she  was  a  wonder !" 

When  he  heard  the  old  man  tossing  sleepless 
through  the  nights,  Jim  took  him  out  for  long 
evening  walks.  He  watched  him,  listened  to  him, 
laughed  with  him,  cooked  for  him — eagerly. 

"Remember,"  he  said — "you  want  to  be  in 
mighty  fine  shape  when  she — comes  back  to — live 
with  you.  She'll  need  some  one — bad." 

Old  Fritz  went  to  see  her  every  Sunday  morning. 
Jim  never  asked  him  where  he  went,  only  gave  him 
money  for  railroad  fare,  if  he  needed  it;  but  his 
care  of  the  old  man  always  rose  as  Sunday  drew 
near.  Once  when  Fritz  caught  a  bad  cold  on  Fri 
day,  Jim  sat  up  all  night  trying  to  copy  all  the  little 
things  she  had  done  when  he  himself  had  been  sick, 
seven  years  before.  And  when  Fritz  begged  him 
to  go  to  bed,  Jim  only  said : 

"We're  not  risking  a  sick  Sunday." 

The  breakfast  Sunday  morning  was  always  a  si- 


254     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

lent  meal,  in  spite  of  Jim's  efforts  to  be  gay  and 
unconcerned.  Fritz's  old  eyes  would  shine  with 
expectancy,  till  he  saw  the  hungry  look  in  Jim's 
face,  and  then  he  would  look  away. 

No  message  ever  passed  from  Gretchen  to  Jim, 
or  from  Jim  to  Gretchen, 

Except  this :  One  spring  morning,  when  Jim  had 
gone  to  his  lesson,  Fritz  noticed  in  Gretchen's  little 
bedroom  a  fresh  dewy  cluster  of  sweet-peas.  He 
went  in,  for  the  first  time  since  the  night  when  he 
had  packed  her  things.  The  flowers  stood  in  the 
middle  of  her  little  low  bureau.  The  bureau  was 
covered  by  a  towel — fresh  and  spotlessly  clean,  but 
strangely  crumpled  as  though  something  or  other 
— starch  possibly — had  been  forgotten  in  the  wash 
ing.  On  the  bed  the  sheets  had  the  same  clean 
crumpled  appearance;  the  bed  was  freshly  made 
for  the  night,  but  the  pillow  still  had  on  its  day 
covering.  By  the  bed,  on  a  low  stand,  was  a  candle 
— half  burnt;  some  sewing  that  Fritz  had  over 
looked  in  his  packing — a  very  big  knitting-needle 
and  a  very  small  bit  of  embroidery;  a  brown  bat 
tered  little  book  of  German  legends,  and  two  big 
opera  librettos.  The  carpet  had  been  swept,  except 
under  the  bed;  everywhere  the  dust  had  simply 
risen  and  then  settled  softly.  The  light  was  dim 


"/  WILL  ONLY  SING"  255 

and  soft,  for  the  dark-blue  curtain  at  the  window 
was  drawn,  as  she  had  left  it.  Soft  light  and  the 
faint  delicate  odor  of  flowers. 

The  next  morning  r,t  sunrise,  Fritz  lay  listening. 
He  heard  Jim  rise,  dress  softly  and  steal  out,  and 
half  an  hour  later  come  back,  go  into  her  room  and 
gently  close  the  door.  There  came  queer  low 
sounds  of  dusting  and  rubbing  and  moving,  sup 
pressed  exclamations.  And  after  that  a  long  silence. 
At  last  Jim  went  into  the  kitchen  and  began  the 
regular  noisy  cooking  and  gay  careless  whistling 
— hard  whistling — barely  stopping  at  all.  At  seven 
o'clock  he  came  to  Fritz,  whose  eyes  were  closed. 
He  filled  the  pitcher  and  then  came  to  the  bed  and 
leaned  over.  Fritz  opened  his  eyes. 

"Well!"  cried  Jim.  "Awake  already?  Better 
get  up.  It's  a  bully  morning  1" 

Each  morning  after  that  Fritz  lay  listening, 
each  day  he  found  in  her  room  a  fresh  little  cluster. 
And  the  next  Sunday  when  he  was  ready  to  start 
out,  he  walked  into  her  room  and  came  out  with  the 
flowers.  As  he  wrapped  them  up  carefully,  Jim 
turned  from  the  piano  and  saw  him  and  started  half 
up,  but  sank  down  and  sat  there  until  Fritz  had 
gone. 

Through  the  summer  the  flowers  went  every  Sun- 


256     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

day.     But  nothing  ever  came  back.    And  neither 
Fritz  nor  Jim  said  anything  about  it. 

One  Sunday  as  Fritz  was  starting,  Jim  rose  and 
handed  him  the  old  fiddlei 

"You  might  want  it." 

Fritz  took  it  with  him  always  after  that. 

In  the  autumn  Jim  suddenly  began  telling  Fritz 
stories.  Stories  of  the  other  singers  he  was  begin 
ning  to  meet  in  the  evenings;  funny  stories  of  gay 
careless  artist  life;  wonderful  tales  from  the  stu 
dios  in  Paris,  Berlin  and  Dresden;  thrilling  stories 
of  how  famous  voices  had  risen  'way  up — swiftly; 
stories  of  hard  patient  devoted  lives,  of  radiant- 
happy  lives,  of  eager  intense  hopeful  lives;  stories 
all  centered  round  the  song,  and  always  the  "glad 
song"  thrilling  with  life !  He  told  them  in  all  their 
details,  often  he  told  the  best  ones  over  several 
times,  and  once  when  he  had  told  a  particularly 
humorous  tale  he  laughed  and  said: 

"Coming  to  think  of  it — Fve  told  you  that  twice 
before.  You  must  know  it  by  heart!" 

"Yes,"  said  Fritz,  still  laughing,  "I  told  it  my 
self  alreatry — und  she  laughed  like  a  Frenchman  !" 

But  all  this  was  only  the  deep  inner  part  of  Jim's 
life,  the  life  behind  the  voice.  This  life  was  kept 
'way  in.  It  only  made  him  work  the  harder. 


"/  WILL  ONLY  SING"  257 

The  voice  was  everything. 

He  was  careful  of  himself.  He  followed  every 
direction  of  anxious  old  Fritz,  he  took  long  walks 
and  boat  rides  with  deej.  breathing  of  fresh  *\ir, 
he  bought  only  wholesome  food,  he  never  smoked 
or  drank,  he  forced  himself  to  sleep  better  at  night. 
He  seemed  always  in  training — sometimes  over 
trained,  the  nerves  strung  too  tight,  the  grip  on 
himself  too  strong. 

And  the  voice.  To  Fritz,  the  voice  seemed  grow 
ing  so  marvellously  rich  and  true  that  again  and 
again  he  turned  at  the  piano  and  stared  up  with  his 
-old -eyes  shining.  J3ut  to  Jim,  the  voice — her  voice 
— seemed  imprisoned;  he  could  feel  how  it  would 
sound  if  it  were  only  free;  and  he  grew  fiercely  im 
patient  at  himself  for  his  human  slowness  and 
weakness,  the  mistakes  that  marred,  the  failures 
to  sing  the  tones  he  could  hear  deep  within  him. 

Only  at  ra^e  intervals  he  let  himself  go,  just  for 
a  few  songs  in  the  old  dim  hour  of  dusk.  And 
what  a  strange  mingling  then — of  gladness  and  de 
spair;  of  radiant  dreams  and  sweet  reverent  mem 
ories;  of  agony  and  loneliness,  of  deep  resolve. 

Such  hours  were  rare.  Even  songs  were  rare. 
He  spent  most  of  his  time  and  thought  on  the  dry 
voice  exercises,  ten  times  harder  than  those 


258     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

Gretchen  and  he  had  so  gaily  conquered;  and  yet 
he  conquered  them  now  alone,  thinking  and  work 
ing  often  for  weeks  on  the  same  one;  still  going 
over  and  over  it  by  himself  days  after  his  teacher 
had  been  quite  satisfied,  over  and  over  till  not  a 
trace  of  roughness-  or  uncertainty  was  left. 

At  his  lessons  he  listened  closely  to  the  smallest 
suggestion  from  his  teacher.  He  got  many  more 
from  the  other  singers  he  was  meeting.  Some  of 
them  were  already  famous  in  concert  and  opera; 
and  when  on  Friday  evenings,  in  the  teacher's  big 
dim  studio,  one  of  these  artists  sang,  Jim  would  lie 
back  in  a  corner,  his  eyes  tight  closed,  his  hands 
clenched  inside  his  coat-pockets,  shutting  out  all 
other  sights  and  sounds  in  the  world,  hearing  only 
the  voice,  listening  intently  to  every  bit  of  technique 
or  phrasing. 

As  winter  came  on  he  added  an  hour  to  his  copy 
ing,  and  with  the  extra  dollar  he  went  once  a  week 
to  his  old  place  in  the  dark  gallery;  there  he  fought 
back  the  memories,  loneliness,  despair — and  leaned 
'way  forward.  And  at  such  moments  his  broad 
dark  gaunt  face  was  transfigured,  he  seemed  hardly 
to  breath  or  live,  but  only  to  listen. 

"I  myself  will  be  nothing.    I  will  only  sing.1' 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A  BEAUTIFUL  SILVER  DOLLAR 

DAGO  JOE  stood  just  inside  the  black  mouth 
of  an  alley — waiting.    It  was  a  little  be 
fore  midnight,  two  months  after  Jim  had 
left  him. 

Quick  footsteps  came  up  the  street.  Joe  leaned 
eagerly  forward,  his  face  came  sharply  out  of  the 
black  into  the  bluish  white  of  the  street  light,  the 
passer-by  took  one  startled  look,  and  sprang  out 
toward  the  curb  and  hurried  on. 

The  look  in  Joe's  face  was  the  climax,  the  whole 

result  of  his  life. 

************* 

"I  can  never  sing  with  you.  You'll  think  this 
over.  You'll  see  why  I  can't.  You'll  never  come 
near  me  again." 

Joe-  had  been  thinking  it  over. 

He  had  walked  for  hours  by  day  and  by  night, 
slouching  along  through  empty  streets,  with  head 
bent  low;  elbowing  fiercely  through  the  gay  home- 

*59 


260     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

rushing  crowds;  he  had  lain  for  days  in  foul  lodg 
ing-house  bunks;  he  had  stood  whole  evenings  at 
the  bar  in  Bowery  saloons — the  same  saloons  where 
"The  Drunkard's  Dream"  had  brought  such  roars 
of  applause;  he  had  sat  huddled  in  basement  wine- 
rooms,  watching  his  countrymen  bend  over  the 
cards;  he  had  stood  down  on  the  East  River  docks, 
staring  off  into  the  twinkling  glittering  moonlit 
water.  He  had  robbed  two  men  who  were  drunk. 
He  had  spent  whole  nights  in  the  little  Italian  thea 
tre — crashing  his  chords  on  the  keys  of  the  yellow 
piano. 

He  had  lived  again  through  the  one  glad  dream 
of  his  life,  from  the  beginning — to  the  end. 

The  pictures  of  his  dream — how  vivid  they 
were ! — flashed  across  his  dull  mind  in  rapid  suc 
cession. 

The  dark  cold  little  clubroom  whrre  he  first 
tried  to  play,  first  heard  Jim's  voice,  first  thrilled 
with  wild  joy  as  Jim  unfolded  his  plan. 

•"You  play — I  sing!  We'll  never  stop  till  we 
die!"  How  suddenly  rich  and  radiant  life  became 
in  an  instant — and  so  sure ! 

Then  "The  Drunkard's  Dream,"  the  saloons 
and  the  jovial  roars  of  applause — the  foul  old 
street  dragging  the  song  down  into  the  mud. 


A  BEAUTIFUL  SUPER  DOLLAR    261 

Next  the  sparkling  laughing  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
the  ladies1  gowns  and  jewels  and  eyes,  the  throb 
of  rag-time — and  the  song  of  Jim  rising  and  soar 
ing  as  though  nothing  bad  could  ever  pull  it  down ! 
The  pure  fresh  boy  soprano — how  it  rang  still  in 
his  ears! 

But  now  he  could  feel  the  street  creep  up,  he 
could  feel  it  in  Jim's  big  eyes — flashing  again  as 
they  had  flashed  over  the  dice,  in  Jim's  white 
strained  face,  in  his  qu  ck  nervous  laugh,  in  his 
voice,  in  the  throb  of  the  rag-time ! 

He  saw  the  proprietor's  smile. 

He  felt  the  voice  being  slowly  nursed  to  life  by 
old  Fritz  and  Gretchen.  How  jealous  and  lonely 
he  had  been — practicing  hours  and  nights  and 
months  at  the  old  piano. 

Then  again  the  glorious  months  in  the  "Rip," 
and  again  the  street  creeping  up.  *  The  voice  grow 
ing  thin  and  hard — straining  for  encores! 

Again  the  proprietor's  face — and  his  smile. 

And  last  of  all,  that  terrible  night  with  Jim,  and 
Joe's  jealous  rage  that  had  made  him  lie.  Gretchen 
hate  Jim?  No — she  loved  him!  She  would  al 
ways  love  him  !  But  so  would  Joe !  And  now — 
with  a  sickening  empty  feeling  he  came  to  the 
end. 


262     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

"I  can  never  sing  with  you  again.  You'll  think 
it  over.  You'll  see  why." 

Yes — he  saw  why.  The  street — dragging  and 
dragging,  had  dragged  Joe  back  until  Joe  was  the 
very  Street  itself.  And  Jim  had  gone  up,  Jim  was 
the  Song. 

Again  the  proprietor's  smile.  Joe  watched  it 
waking  and  sleeping.  Slowly  he  fastened  upon  it 
all  the  blame.  The  "Rip"  had  forced  the  gambling, 
the  gambling  had  forced  the  stealing,  the  stealing 
had  torn  Joe  from  Jim  forever. 

Slowly  all  Joe's  wild  glad  dreams  and  cold  hide 
ous  nightmares,  hopes  and  fears  and  despair  and 
longings — all  dropped  away.  He  began  drinking 
harder.  For  days  and  nights  he  heard  nothing  but 
the  proprietor's  jovial  reasonable  voice.  All  else 
— the  whole  world — grew  distorted,  far  away,  un 
real. 

Except   this   reasonable   laugh,    this    face,    this 

smile. 

************* 

Dago  Joe  stood  just  inside  the  black  mouth  of  an 
alley — waiting.  Down  at  City  Hall  the  clock  struck 
one.  He  stepped  out  into  the  quivering  light. 

The  same  Joe.  The  same  burly  figure  in  rags, 
the  same  enormous  shoulders,  with  the  soft  red 


A  BEAUTIFUL  SILVER  DOLLAR    263 

handkerchief  tied  loosely  round  the  neck,  and  the 
face  too  was  the  same.  A  face  marked  by  the 
street  for  its  own.  The  fight,  the  bluff,  the  sneer, 
the  gamble — all  were  there.  The  face  was  white 
under  the  dirt,  the  thick  lips  were  curled  up 
slightly,  the  nostrils  quivered.  The  big  dull  green 
ish  eyes  twinkled  and  gleamed — watching. 

From  down  the  street  carre  occasional  faint 
bursts  of  music,  gay  laughter  and  applause,  as  the 
doors  of  the  "Rip"  were  opened  to  let  out  hilarious 
parties.  "Sporting  cabs,"  carriages  and  automo 
biles  were  waiting;  one  by  one  they  came  up  the 
street.  Soon  all  were  gone. 

Joe  had  stepped  back.  A  dull  mass  of  black  in 
the  shadow,  only  now  and  then  moving  slowly  for 
ward  as  footsteps  approached.  When  even  these 
latest  passers  stopped  coming,  the  figure  shuffled 
impatiently. 

The  lights  in  the  "Rip"  went  out.  The  big  doors 
slammed. 

Joe  stepped  out  again.  In  his  hand  something 
glittered;  for  a  moment  his  face  broke  into  a  smile, 
which  settled  into  a  sneer;  he  stooped  quickly  and 
placed  the  something  on  the  sidewalk — just  past 
the  alley.  Then  he  stepped  back  into  the  dark. 
The  something  was  a  big  bright  silver  dollar. 


264     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

From  the  "Rip"  quick  footsteps  were  approach 
ing.  Firm  heavy  footsteps  echoing  cheerfully  in 
the  cold  empty  silence. 

Nearer.  The  man  was  humming  a  gay  little 
rag-time  air  in  time  to  his  steps. 

Nearer  I  The  man  wore  a  rich  fur  coat,  rich 
gloves  and  hat;  his  beard  was  nicely  trimmed,  his 
shoes  were  well  polished;  he  was  rich  and  strong 
and  prosperous. 

Nearer!    The  man  was  contentedly  smiling. 

A  cry  of  surprise.  He  had  passed  the  mouth  of 
the  alley,  he  had  seen  the  silver  dollar,  and  with  a 
laugh  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up. 

From  the  black  mouth  of  the  alley  the  figure 
stole  slowly,  then  swiftly!  The  ragged  arm  swept 
far  up  and  plunged! 

The  laugh  was  cut  short  in  a  low  sharp  cry, 
which  gurgled  into  silence;  the  man  sank  down  on 
his  knees,  fell  on  his  side,  and  then  slowly  turned  on 
his  back.  His  eyes  stared  up  in  the  last  glimmer 
of  consciousness — which  was  agony.  And  close 
above,  two  dull  burning  eyes  looked  down — hun 
grily — till  the  glimmer  in  the  eyes  below  went  out 
and  left  only  a  fixed  startled  stare. 

************* 


'Playing    the    music    of   his    life,    the    result   of   his   life,    the 
climax  at  the  end." 


A  BEAUTIFUL  SILVER  DOLLAR    265 

That  night  the  little  Italian  theatre  was  filled 
with  strange  wild  music. 

It  was  nearly  morning;  already  through  the 
grimy  skylight  above  a  faint  gray  light  came  down 
into  the  yellow  circle  from  the  one  gas-jet  over  the 
piano. 

Dim  and  ghostly  up  on  the  rear  of  the  stage 
stood  the  knights  and  ladies  and  kings  and  queens 
of  the  Romance  of  Roland. 

And  staring  up  at  them  sat  Dago  Joe,  his  shaggy 
head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  vacant;  for  all  his  soul 
was  in  his  hands  on  the  keys,  playing  the  music  of 
his  life,  the  result  of  his  life,  the  climax  at  the  end. 

The  rich  sparkling  roaring  racing  street,  with 
its  eternal  fights  and  lies  and  bKiffs  and  chances — 
all  throbbed  in  the  chords ! 

But  through  it  all  rose  a  deep  wild  yearning. 
For  the  music  was  empty,  only  an  accompaniment 
to  a  song  that  was  gone  /orever. 

The  yearning  grew  fainter.  The  note  of  the 
street  rose  warm,  rich  and  gay.  The  music  grew 
faster!  On  the  thick  lips  came  again  the  sneer!  The 
big  hands  jerked  up  and  down  in  the  exciting  ir 
regular  glorious  throb  of  rag-time;  louder,  deeper, 
faster — till  all  the  gaiety  was  gone  and  left  only  a 
frenzy  of  throbbing!  Where  was  the  song  now? 


266     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

The  street  was  all  here !  Faster,  louder !  Furious 
crashing ! — Silence. 

Clutching  the  knife  still  red,  the  arm  swept  up 
again— and  plunged! 

The  shaggy  head  sank  slowly  down  and  struck 
the  keys.  A  low  muffled  discord — as  of  something 
dropping  down — down — down — and  away. 

The  beginning  of  eternal  silence. 

Dago  Joe  was  dead. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

"THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY" 

A  YEAR  had  burned  slowly  away.    And  now 
Jim  began  singing  for  people. 
He  sang  first  in  the  studios  of  his  new 
artist  friends,  then  in  the  houses  of  rich  music  pa 
trons,  and  later  in  small  public  recitals. 

Those  who  listened  watched  him — some  very 
curiously,  some  spellbound.  They  watched  the 
more  closely  because  they  saw  that  he  never  no 
ticed  their  gaze.  And  what  they  felt  under  the 
voice  they  saw  in  the  rigid  poise  of  his  figure,  in 
his  hands  clinched  behind  him,  in  his  broad  tense 
face  and  deep-set  twinkling  flashing  eyes.  Des 
perate  gladness! 

Many  who  heard  were  eager  to  know  the  singer. 
But  when  they  met  him  they  found  him  quiet,  re 
served  and  shrinking.  The  few  who  at  last  grew 
to  know  him,  found  him  gentle  and  very  humble, 
lonely— struggling  to  be  glad.  Feeling  this  they 


268     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

helped  him  rise  the  swifter,  they  gave  him  friend 
ship,  and  they  could  see  him  struggle  to  give  his 
friendship  in  return,  but  he  always  failed  and  sank 
back  into  himself. 

"It's  not  me,"  he  often  said,  "I  am  nothing.  It's 
only  the  voice.  And — well — that  was  given  to  me 
— it  isn't  mine." 

Some  people  said  that  he  sang  as  though  a  ghost 
were  listening. 

Often  after  singing  he  would  go  quickly  from 
the  buzz  of  admiration  and  wonder,  go  home  and 
sit  alone  in  her  bedroom  in  the  soft  light  of  the 
candle  until  long  after  midnight.  The  flowers 
were  always  fresh  on  her  bureau. 

As  money  began  to  pour  in,  one  Saturday  morn 
ing  he  brought  home  a  huge  cluster  of  rich  "Ameri 
can  Beauties";  he  put  them  on  the  little  bureau,  but 
then  took  them  away  and  brought  back  a  humble 
bunch  of  little  white  carnations. 

He  used  to  wander  whole  afternoons  down  along 
the  docks. 

He  still  kept  telling  his  stories,  till  Fritz  learned 
them  by  heart;  the  stories  that  made  some  one 
"laugh  like  a  Frenchman."  Most  of  them  were  in 
cidents  to  show  the  wonderful  success  his  voice  was 
having. 


THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY  269 

As  Sunday  drew  near,  Jim  would  ask  Fritz  to 
play  for  him;  he  would  sing  and  his  voice  would 
thril]  with  that  same  desperate  gladness.  And  at 
such  times  the  old  man  would  forget  himself,  and 
with  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks  he  would  cry, 
just  as  though  he  were  answering  some  question 
from  Jim : 

"Yes!  Jimmy!  I  will  tell  to  her  all  you  say  in 
your  song !  All — all—  all  I" 

The  five  rich  busy  months  of  the  musical  season 
went  by. 

And  now  this  strange  dramatic  voice  was  known 
to  thousands  of  people.  It  was  praised  in  scores 
of  newspaper  reviews.  Even  the  most  exacting 
critics  pointed  out  only  faults  which  they  admitted 
were  one  by  one  being  cleared  away.  Many  pre 
dicted  a  glorious  future.  Some  shook  their  heads 
— watching  Jim. 

He  shrank  from  applause  as  though  in  taking  it 
he  were  stealing  from  some  one.  He  was  relieved 
when  the  season  was  over. 

******* 

One  balmy  May  afternoon  he  had  been  wander 
ing  up  along  the  East  River  docks,  watching  the 
old  ships  and  the  sailors  from  all  over  the  world, 
trying  to  feel  the  music  in  it  all  as  he  used  to.  At 


270     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

last  he  gave  up  to  the  empty  feeling  and  sat  down 
on  a  bench  by  a  ferry  dock. 

Behind  him  Twenty-sixth  Street  stretched  back 
into  the  city. 

Jim  sat  listlessly  gazing  into  the  sunny  sparkling 
waves  of  the  river. 

Clang-clang-clang!  Eyery  few  minutes  came 
the  clang  of  a  gong  behind  him. 

At  last  he  turned  around',  facing  the  city. 

Clang-clang-clang  I  An  ambulance  came  rapidly 
down  the  street  and  turned  into  Bellevue  Hospital 
— a  huge  cheerless  pile  of*  gray  buildings  to  his 
right.  The  big  gates- swung  to. 

Jim  was  still  staring. 

Clang-clang-clang !  A  police  wagon  dashed  down 
to  the  ferry.  Two  men,  an  old  woman,  and  a  girl 
of  sixteen — starting  for  the  Island — for  the  poor- 
house,  work-house  and  prison.  He  watched  their 
faces  closely,  and  when  they  had  gone  he  sat  with 
eyes  fixed  on  the  boat,  thinking. 

Clang-clang-clang!  An  S.  P.  C.  C.  'bus-load  of 
boys — embryo  thieves,  drunkards,  gamblers — 
given  up  by  their  parents.  A  jolly  lot  of  young 
sters! 

Jim  sat  for  an  hour  in  silence. 

Clang-clang-clang!      Down    the    street    rolled 


THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY  271 

slowly  a  black  closed  wagon,  which  stopped  at  the 
Morgue  close  behind  him.  A  young  woman — mis 
erably  but  neatly  dressed — jumped  out  with  the 
official  and  followed  the  coffin.  She  kept  one  hand 
on  it  as  she  went  in.  The  doors  slammed  behind 
her. 

Jim  rose  and  walked  up  the  street. 

As  he  passed  Bellevue  he  saw,  close  by  the  gate, 
a  long  low  building,  which  had  over  its  doors  the 
words  "For  the  Criminally  Insane." 

He  walked  faster.  Clang-clang-clang!  An 
other  wagon  was  coming. 

Thousands  every  week.     The  street  dropping 

the  wrecks  of  its  racing. 

************* 

The  next  day  Jim  went  to  one  of  his  friends — a 
young  hospital  interne. 

"Do  you  ever  have  singing*  in  your  place?" 

"Yes.  In  the  chapel  on  Sundays.  Some  call  it 
singing." 

"I  should  like  to  try." 

During  the  summer  he  sang  in  hospitals,  in  asy 
lums,  and  on  all  the  three  Islands.  Again  people 
listened,  spellbound,  to  his  voice — to  the  desperate 
gladness.  But  these  people  seemed  to  understand 
it  well ;  they  felt  no  strange  note ;  and  they  eagerly 


272    THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

joined  with  him  in  the  struggle  to  be  glad.  He  set 
hundreds  of  them  thinking — some  bitterly,  some 
tenderly,  some  hopefully — all  rousing  to  lifel 

As  he  sang  he  watched  their  faces. 

"What  a  wonder  of  a  nurse  she  would  have 
been,1*  he  was  thinking. 

Late  one  August* evening  he  went  to  Joe's  haunt 
—the  Italian  theatre. 

Up  on  the  little  low  stage  the  white-haired  Ital 
ian  was  carefully  putting  away  his  gay  knights  and 
ladles — hanging  them  up  still  fierce  and  proud  on 
hooks  round  the  walls. 

Standing  in  the  rear  of  the  darkened*  place  Jim 
sang  one  of  the  glad  old  songs  from  Naples.  He 
sang  just  as  Joe  had  taught  him.  And  when  he 
finished  he  saw  the  old  man  leaning  far  over  the 
footlights — staring  with  bewildered  shining  eyes. 
But  as  Jim  came  down  the  aisle,  the  smooth  old 
face  suddenly  broke  into  a  gay  kindly  smile.  He 
shook  Jim's  hand  and  told,  in  much  musical  Italian, 
how  glad  he  was  to  hear  how  the  voice  had  grown. 

"Now  it  is — how  you  say — from  de  stars!"  he 
cried.  "Ah — you  must  be  happy — so  happy! — 
But  no — you  are  sad. 

Jim  smiled  and  took  the  old  man's  arm. 

"I  want  to  sing  for  some  of  your  people,"  he 


THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY.  273 

said.  "I  need  no  pay.  If  you  will  find  me  places 
where  people  are  homesick  for  Naples — or  just 
sick  or  tired  or  unhappy  or  poor — or  trying  to  be 
glad — at  weddings  perhaps — I  would  like  to  sing 
there.  I  want  to  try  to  give  them  something  like 
what  yon  give  them,"  he  said  smiling. 

The  old  man's  face  grew  ten  times  brighter,  but 
still  amazed  and  bewildered.  It  suddenly  cleared 
and  his  eyes  glistened : 

"Is  it — because  of  Joe?"  he  asked. 

Jim  turned  away. 

"Because  of  Joe  and — a  friend  of  his." 

They  both  stared  at  the  battered  piano. 

"Yes.  You  shall  sing,"  said  the  old  man  simply. 
"In  this  country  de  street  is  so  loud.  Too  much  de 
street — not  enough  de  song." 

So  Jim  sang  all  that  summer.  And  he  felt  no 
shrinking  but  only  relief.  He  seemed  always  grate 
ful. 

He  gave  away  all  his  money,  and  autumn  found 
him  penniless. 

************* 

Then  came  more  studio  gatherings,  recitals, 
larger  concerts.  Little  by  little  he  was  ordered  to 
drop  his  "slum  singing,"  for  the  teacher  noticed  the 
strained  look  come  back,  and  thought  it  was  caused 


274     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

by  overwork.  But  that  wasn't  it.  The  long  spell 
of  relief  had  passed,  and  the  growing  applause  was 
bringing  again  the  old  strain.  The  voice  must  go 
up — 'way  up — and  it  must  be  glad ! 

More  than,  ever  he  tried  to  live  this  life,  more 
and  more  he  shrank  from  it.  He  redoubled  his 
work.  More  desperately  glad  grew  the  songs. 

Suddenly  his  vigorous  body  began  losing 
strength. 

Again  and  again  the  teacher  warned  him  to  go 
easier,  to  save  himself  for  the  work  later  on.  He 
even  spoke  of  the  opera.  But  Jim  only  laughed 
and  said: 

"It  will  last.  If  you  felt  as  I  feel  you  would 
not  be  afraid." 

The  teacher  scolded  in  vain,  and  at  last  stopped 
half  the  lessons.  But  the  idleness  only  made  Jim 
worse. 

There  was  one  night  when  he  walked  until  day 
light,  and  as  he  stood  by  the  river  the  old  fierce 
street  feeling  came  up  with  a  rush;  for  a  moment 
he  stared  into  the  black  water,  tempted  to  try  the 
climax  of  gambling. 

But  he  fought  it  down  and  walked  on. 

One  day  the  teacher  met  him  with  a  delighted— 
smile. 


THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY  275 

"What  do  you  think  I  have  done  for  you?" 

He  paused  a  moment — watching  Jim's  face,  and 
added  slowly: 

"You  will  sing — next  month — at  the  concert — 
Sunday  night — in  the  Metropolitan!" 

Jim  started  slightly.  He  stared  hard  at  the 
teacher.  Suddenly  his  face  grew  tense,  his  big  black 
eyes  sparkled  and  he  seized  the  man's  hand. 

"Glorious !"  he  cried.  "Glorious !  Why  it's  the 
chance  of  a  lifetime!  It's  what  I  always  dreamed 
of!  Always  dreamed  of — always — dreamed  of." 

His  voice  sank,  his  face  relaxed  and  the  old  hun 
ger  rose  in  his  eyes. 

"Always — dreamed  of.  Well — I  can't  ever 
thank  you.  All  I  can  do  is  to  get  ready — and  sing 
and — make  you  proud  of  me.  I'll  do  that — sure." 

But  the  teacher's  face  had  darkened  with  disap 
pointment. 

"Jimmy — I'm — sorry  for  you.  I  thought  this 
would  rouse  you  up — I  hoped " 

"It  wiM!"  Again  the  strained  eagerness.  "It 
will  be  the  gladdest  time  of  my  life!  Wait  and 


see!" 


So  he  said  all  through  the  next  two  weeks.  In 
spite  of.  all  warningsJKe  either  worked  or  planned 
or  worried  about  the  voice,  day  andlilght. 


276     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET. 

The  rehearsal  came.  At  last  he  stood  in  the  won 
derful  place  of  soft  light.  He  sang  the  ubig  glad 
song"  from  Faust — which  he  and  Joe  had  heard 
in  this  very  place  so  long  before.  Again  the  song 
poured  into  the  darkness — passionate,  thrilling  now 
with  the  fresh  joy  of  love  and  now  with  the  hunger 
and  the  anguish  of  despair. 

"The  man  wanted  the  lady!" 

That  night  he  sat  in  her  room  until  dawn. 

Then  he  went  out  for  the  flowers.  An  hour  later 
he  came  back  and  climbed  slowly  up  the  stairs.  Half 
way  up  he  turned  giddy  and  then  fell  unconscious. 
He  came  to  in  a  few  minutes  and  climbed  up  by 
holding  to  the  banister. 

He  said  nothing  to  Fritz.  He  ate  nothing  that 
day  and  lay  awake  all  that  night.  The  next  morn 
ing  he  could  not  get  up. 

"It  is  nothing,"  he  said;  "I  will  be  all  right  to 
morrow.  And  we  have  still  three  days." 

When  the  teacher  came  to  see  him,  Jim  wanted 
to  sing  from  the  big  chair  before  the  fire,  but  the 
teacher  angrily  refused.  He  sent  for  a  famous  up 
town  physician,  and  then  he  took  old  Fritz  out 
for  a  walk  and  they  had  a  long  earnest  talk  to 
gether. 

While  they  were  gone  the  physician  came,  ex« 


\THE  MAN  WANTED  THE  LADY,  277 

amined  Jim  thoroughly  and  gave  him  a  strong  heart 
stimulant. 

"Nothing  wrong  at  all!"  he  cried  cheerfully. 
"It's  not  the  body — that's  sound  as  a  bell — only  a 
little  starved  and  over-strained.  It's  you — you're 
worrying  too  much  about  that  concert,"  he  smiled 
down  kindly.  "I  know  how  it  feels — it's  hard  on 
the  nerves — But  try  to  forget  it — be  quiet — eat — 
sleep — try  to  be  happy !  Why  my  boy,  just  think 
of  the  life — the  fame — the  career  you  have 
ahead!" 

"Yes,"  Jim  whispered.     He  shut  his  eyes  tight. 

The  doctor  had  gone  away. 

Slowly  the  stimulant  began  to  work.  Jim  could 
feel  the  strength  rising — dull  animal  strength. 

He  rose  slowly  out  of  bed  and  walked  into  her 
room  and  sat  there  in  the  darkness. 

The  life  ahead?  No.  The  life  forever  behind. 
Dreams — dreams — dreams!  On  the  edge  of  de 
lirium  ! 

************* 

"Jimmy !"    It  was  Fritz's  voice — low  and  eager. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE  SONG  MUST  BE  LIKE  WE  DREAMED 


~T~T"EN  you  sing—  she  vill  be  dere  —  to  lis- 
\f        ten!  —  Vait!     Don't  look  so  strange! 

—I  vill  tell." 

The  old  voice  grew  slow,  still  shaking  with  ex 
citement. 

"Two  years  ago  —  ven  I  found  her  dot  night  — 
she  vas  in  de  big  house  of  Fraulein  Louisa  —  in  a 
room  —  alone.  Her  face  —  it  looked  —  so  much 
alone!  But  quick  I  see  she  feel  not  for  herself! 
Her  shame,  her  black  life  ahead  —  all  ees  nothings. 
She  feel  only  for  you.  She  vas  so  quiet.  Ven  I 
took  her  tight  in  mein  arms  she  shoost  told  me  so 
low: 

"  4No  police  —  no  trial  —  no  reporters  —  no  big 
loud  shame  to  come  in  his  life.  I  vill  do  vat  dey 
vish.  I  vill  go  quick  to  prison.  Yes  —  quick!  I 
must  go  from  all  his  life  —  far  avay.  I  must  neffer 
see  him  again.' 

178 


MUST  BE  LIKE  WE  DREAMED    279 

"So  quiet — Gott  in  Himmel — she  spoke  so  quiet. 
But  I  say: 

14  4No !  You  can  ncffer  drop  avay,  he  vill  love 
you  all  his  life!  You  must  live  I  If  you  go  to 
prison  you  vill  die!' 

"I  go  und  I  find  Fraulein  Louisa.  She  vas  so 
happy — shoost  married;  I  tell  her  how  mein 
Gretchen  love  too,  und  how  she  steal  because  she 
love — I  tell  so  hard — Fraulein  Louisa  she  cry — 
she  fix  it  quick  mit  her  friends,  so  ve  haf  no  police 
und  no  prison.  Only  Gretchen  must  go  for  two 
years  to  de  place  to  help  bad  girls  who  steal — Bad 
girls !  How  bad  vas  Gretchen  ? — But  so  it  vas  bet 
ter  dan  prison.  I  come  back  to  her,  I  tell,  und 
she  vas  glad.  She  give  me  a  letter.  I  read  it. 
Again  I  hold  her  so  tight  und  I  say: 

"  'No !  Ven  he  reads  he  vill  neffer  sing  again !' 
— But  den  she  only  smiles. 

"  4Yes,'  she  say,  *he  vill  sing.  I  know  how  strong 
he  ees.  I  t  :!1  him  here  how  I  love  de  voice.  He 
vill  sing,  und  soon  vill  come  a  life  of  big  beauties 
— new  songs — new  friends — und  so — it  vill  be  bet 
ter.  I  must  stay  avay.  All  de  peoples  vere  I  stole 
— dey  vill  tell.  Und  I  vould  be — a  shame — for 
him — a  big  black  shame!' — Den  she  vas  quiet — 
shaking  in  mein  arms — und  den  she  say,  *Dere 


280     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

must  be  not  one  spot.  De  song  must  be — like  we 
dreamed — shoost  like  we  dreamed!'  1 

Old  Fritz  stopped  for  breath. 

In  the  soft  light  that  streamed  through  from  the 
lamp  in  the  other  room,  Jim's  big  eyes  were  phin- 
ing,  twinkling,  staring  in  an  agony  of  suspense  right 
into  Fritz's  face.  He  leaned  'way  forward,  and 
his  hand  gripped  Fritz's  shoulder  tighter — slowly 
tighter.  Fritz  went  on  : 

"In  de  two  years  ven  I  come,  I  tell  her  how 
peoples  rich  und  glad,  peoples  poor  und  sick  und 
tierd  und  old,  peoples  good  und  bad,  peoples 
down  in  de  heart  mit  sorrow,  peoples  young  in 
de  heart  mit  joy.  All  love  de  song.  De  song  on 
mein  fiddle  I  play! — She  play  de  piano  mit  me — 
but  she  dreams  she  play  mit  you.  Und  ven  I  go 
avay — she  play  by  herself — mit  your  song  singing 
so  soft  und  fine — inside  of  her  ears. 

<4I  see  her — how  she  loves.  I  see  you — how  you 
love.  I  tell  her: 

"4No!  It  must  not  be!  You  must  togedder 
sing  und  play  und  love  for  all  your  life  ahead.' — 
But  she  say  only: 

"  'Vait.' 

"I  see  you  begin  to  lose  your  life.  I  tell  her  all. 
I  tell  how  you  fix  her  room,  how  you  stay  in  de 


MUST  BE  LIKE  WE  DREAMED    281 

room  all  night  mit  your  dreams,  I  bring  to  her  de 
flowers,  I  beg  so  hard: 

"  'Give  me  vords  to  him — how  you  love — how 
you  dream — how  you  play.' — But  she  say,  so  quiet: 

"  'Vait.  De  new  life  vill  come.  Alreatty  you 
bring  fine  stories — how  happy  he  ees.' 

"  'Lies!'  I  say.  'AH  lies!  He  shoost  tells  fine 
stories  so  I  tell  you — so  you  think  de  voice  you  love 
ees  glad.  Lies !  De  voice  only  fights  to  be  glad — 
fights  und  loses.  Mitout  love  de  voice  vill  die.1 — 
But  she  say  only: 

"  'Vait.1 

"At  last  I  tell  how  soon  you  vill  sing  in  de  big 
concert.  How  glad  she  vas — how  proud! 

"Time  goes.  I  come  effery  veek.  It  ees  not 
enough — she  must  hear  more  quick — so  I  write  to 
her  efiery  day.  I  tell  how  you  try  so  hard — how 
de  voice  goes  up  und  up  und  all  peoples  say — 4He 
vill  do  it.  Yes — so  fine.1 

"Time  goes.  I  tell  how  you  yourself  alreatty 
go  down — down — down  !  How  you  are  here  in 
her  room.  How  mitout  love  de  voice  vill  die ! 
But  she  cry  only: 

"'Vait!    Vait!1 

"Time  goes !  I  come  und  take  her  in  mein  arms 
und  say: 


282     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

44  4Now  you  must  come  or  de  voice  vill  ncffer 
sing  again !' 

"A  long  time  she  lie  in  mein  arms  und  shake  und 
shake.  Und  at  last  she  whisper  so  slow — so  deep 
— so  glad : 

44  Tell  him — ven  he  sings — I  vill  be  dere — to 
listen.  I  vill  be  dere — to  live  again.  I  vill  be  dere 
— to  love  for  all  his  life  ahead  P  " 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  SONG 

IN  the  great  rich  home  of  the  Song,  in  the  deep 
expectant  silence— Gretchen  sat  with  old 
Fritz — breathless,  waiting. 

From  her  dreams  alone  in  a  place  shut  off  from 
the  world,  she  had  come  so  suddenly  back  at  night 
into  the  roar  and  the  glare  of  the  street;  she  had 
seen  again  the  eager  faces,  the  sparkling  lights, 
the  swift  jerking  racing  lights;  she  had  heard  the 
clangs  and  clatters,  gay  laughter  and  curses;  she 
had  felt  again  the  throbbing  race  and  gamble  and 
fight — the  relentless  sparkling  street — the  street 
that  had  crushed  her! 

And  she  had  shrunk  closer  to  Fritz — who  had 
smiled. 

They  sat,  as  she  had  wished,  in  the  same  old 
seats  'way  up  in  the  gallery — dark,  mysterious, 
thrilling  like  the  dreams  she  had  dreamed  with  Jim 
of  the  "World  of  Big  Beauties1'  ahead. 

Old  memories. 

A  boy  with  black  flashing  eyes,  a  voice  fresh, 


284     THE  VOICE  OF  THE  STREET 

pure  and  glad,  but  wild  and  throbbing.  Her  first 
thrill  of  fascination  and  fear  as  first  she  had  felt 
the  street's  fire  burn  into  the  voice  of  Lucky  Jim  the 
Gambler!  Then  the  night  she  had  nursed  him, 
the  days  and  weeks  and  months  when  she  felt  the 
voice  slowly  healed  by  the  power  of  love;  she  felt 
that  love  rise  and  swell  and  fill  all  the  world !  And 
again  rose  the  voice — the  voice  of  a  man,  deep 
and  rich  and  vibrating  with  all  the  new  joy  of  love 
and  of  hope  and  of  dreams  soaring  high !  And 
then  once  again  the  street  creeping  slowly  up  and 
up — and  burning.  Black  memories  now !  The 
street  close  around  her — almighty,  insatiable, 
cruel !  Again  the  shrinking. 

She  drew  a  quick  quivering  breath  and  leaned 
back. 

From  far  below,  out  of  the  hushed,  measured  or 
chestra  chords — rose  the  Song. 

Low  and  solemn  at  first — but  even  so  she  could 
feel  what  was  coming,  she  could  feel  the  tremen 
dous  power  beneath. 

New  power.  Where  now  was  the  desperate  glad 
ness?  Where  now  the  struggle?  Won.  Gone  was 
the  sorrow,  the  lonely  despair  and  the  yearning. 
Now  only  the  glorious  triumph  of  joy!  But  joy 
solemn  and  deep,  embracing  all  mankind. 


THE  SONG  285 

Five  thousand  faces  stared.  The  strain  of  the 
Street  was  forgotten.  The  Song  of  joy  and  peace 
and  eternal  love  had  claimed  its  own.  It  held  five 
thousand  breathless — for  a  moment. 

But  Gretchen  saw  nothing.  For  she  knew  that 
the  Song  was  only  to  her.  So  low,  so  solemn,  so 
close  to  her  soul — it  was  saying : 

"Come — for  the  life  we  dreamed  of  is  here. 
Come — forever  closer,  closer  to  me;  hear  what  I 
hear,  see  what  I  see,  feel  what  I  feel.  Open  your 
eyes  and  your  ears  and  your  soul  to  the  World  of 
Big  Beauties'with  me.  Be  glad — for  the  Street  is 
forever  behind  us;  the  fight,  the  race,  the  lie,  the 
gamble — are  only  parts  of  death.  Deep  under  the 
glare  and  the  roar  of  the  street — life — real  life — 
is  silently  waiting  for  the  time  when  men  shall  no 
longer  be  blind  and  deaf.  Be  glad — for  the  Age 
of  the  Street  will  forever  pass  to  make  way  for  the 
Age  of  the  Song.  Be  glad — for  life — real  life — is 
not  murder  of  the  weak  by  the  mighty.  Be  glad — 
for  life  is  creation — the  race  where  each  helps  his 
brother,  that  Big  Beauty  may  come  first  ahead! 
Be  glad — for  life  is  the  birth  and  the  growth  ef 
beauty  and  joy  for  all !  Be  glad— for  life  is  love !" 

THE    END 


NOVELS       WORTH        READIN  G 

MINERPATS  MANOEUVRES.  The  Cheerful  Talc  of  a  "Return 
to  Nature."  By  Charles  Battcll  Loomis.  Illustrated  by  F.  R. 
Gruger.  I  zmo.  Cloth.  £1.50. 

Mr.  Loomis's  name  has  become  a  s/nonym  for  good  cherr. 
In  the  prevailing  fashion  of  "  nature  study"  and  a  "return  to 
nature,"  Mr.  Loomis's  quaint  and  gentle  humor  has  foun>i  a 
delightfully  fitting  theme.  The  adventures  at  the  summer  home 
to  which  Minerva  is  icci  from  the  city  to  dwell  with  nature,  and 
the  series  of  unexpected  and  mirthful  incidents  form  a  story  which 
readers  have  described  as  the  legitimate  successor  to  "  Rudder 
Grange."  It  is  a  story  free  from  stress  or  strain.  Thtrc  are 
no  problems  except  the  problem  of  Minerva  and  the  simple  life, 
rnd  these  are  solved  with  unexpected  turns  and  a  richness  of 
humorous  situations. 

ON  TTBEE  KNOLL.  A  Story  of  the  Georgia  Coast.  By 
James  B.  Connolly.  Illustrated  in  colors  by  Ch.  Wcber-Ditzlcr. 
izmo.  Cloth.  $1.25.  Second  edition. 

"  There  is  adventure  aplenty,  and  much  fruitrating  of  the 
schemes  of  revengeful  men." — N.  T.  Tribune. 

"  Clean  and  natural.    Leaves  a  good  taste  in  the  mouth." 

—  Chicago  Evening  Pojt. 

"A  breezy  story  told  with  engaging  frankness." 

— Newark  Advertiser. 

SERENA.  A  Novel.  By  Virginia  Frazcr  Boyle.  Frontispiece  in 
colors  by  Elizabeth  Gowdy  Baker.  izmo.  Cloth.  $1.50. 
Second  edition. 

"The  high  standard  of  her  short  itories  is  well  maintained. 
Strong  and  unusual." — N.  T.  Globe. 

"This  romance  runs  the  entire  gamut  of  th^  human  emotions." 

— N.  T.  American. 

"Easily  one  of  the  very  best  among  the  good  itorics  of  the 
Old  South."— N.  r.  World. 


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Fifth  edition. 

"  As  far  as  one  knowi  there  k  in  English  no  book  which  so 
adequately  covers  the  subject." — New  York  Globe. 

"  Any  pilgrim  of  the  Rhine  who  goes  on  his  tour  without  it 
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HOME  THOUGHTS.  First  and  Second  Series.  By  «'C" 
(Mrs.  James  Farley  Cox).  2  Vols.  Cloth.  Each,  £1.20 
net.  The  set  in  half-calf,  $6.00  net. 

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should  read." — The  Lamp. 

"  No  wiser  book,  nor  one  more  sorely  needed,  has  appeared 
for  a  long  time."  —  Hamilton  W.  Mabie. 

AN  AMERICAN  CRUISER  IN  THE  EAST.  A  Voyage  to 
the  Aleutian  Island*,  Korea,  Japan ,  China ,  and  the  Philippines. 
Jiv  Rear-Admiral  John  D.  Ford.  I2mo.  200  Illustrations. 
Cloth.  Third  edition.  $1.50  net. 

"A  veritable  search-light  thrown  upon  the  lands  and  the  peo 
ple  affected  by  the  late  American  war  with  Spain." 

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AMERICA  IN  THE  EAST.  By  William  Elliot  Griffis,  LL.D. 
Illustrated.  izmo.  Cloth.  £1.50. 

«« It  is  almost  a  duty  for  every  American  to  read  this  book." 

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NAPOLEON:   A  Short  Biography.      By  R.  M.  Johnston.      With 
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RECOLLECTIONS  OF  RICHARD  HENRT  STODDARDi 
PERSONAL  AND  LITER  ART.     Edited  by  Ripley  Hitch- 
cock.      Witb  a   Preface  by   Edmund  Clarence  Stedman.      Illus 
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THE  REAL  BENEDICT  ARNOLD.     By  Charles  Burr  Todd. 
Illustrated.      izmo.      Cloth.      Gilt  top.      £1.20  net. 
"A  useful  addition  to  Revolutionary  biography." 

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Revolutionary  Ruina.      By  A.   Caban.     12 mo.    Cloth.    £l.$O. 
Third  edition. 

««  Mr.  Cahtn  throws  the  searchlight  of  realism  far  into  inner 
Russia,  giving  one  of  the  most  illuminating  views  in  recent 
fiction." — Boston  Herald. 

"Conditions  in  Russia  are  depicted  wi'h  startling  convincing 
ness." — St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

"  The  tragedy  of  the  Russian  nation  laid  bare  by  a  novelist 
who  knows." — New  York  Maif, 


A  CAPTAIN  IN  THE  RANKS.  A  Romance  of  Affairt.  By 
George  Gary  Egg  lest  on.  \  2 mo.  Cloth.  Frontispiece  in 
colors  by  C.  D.  Williams.  $1.20  net. 

"The  best  novel  Mr.  Eggleston  has  yet  written." 

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original  colored  frontispiece.    121110.  Cloth.    Illustrated.    £1.00. 

«'  This  Miltonesque  romance  of  the  pagan  born  to  darkness, 
his  life  and  loves,  adventures,  warfare,  jealousies  and  revenge, 
as  moulded  by  the  author,  is  pungent  with  the  aroma  of 
primitive  man.  The  type  and  the  illustrations  arc  in  keeping 
with  the  novelty  of  this  dramatic  narrative." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Original,  uniquely  graphic.  The  author  has  an  imagina 
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him  among  writers.  He  paints  with  a  pen,  and  does  so  beau 
tifully  and  distinctly." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

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"  The  best  itory  Samuel  Merwin  has  written." 

—  Chicago  R  ecord-  Her  Aid. 
"  Such  men  as  he  arc  the  kings  of  the  earth." 

— Minneapolis  Tribune. 

BAYOU  TRISTE.  A  Story  of  Louisiana.  By  Josephine  Hamilton 
Nicholls.  izmo.  Cloth.  Gilt  top.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 
Third  edition. 

"Charming  and  delightful." — Charleston  News  and  Observer. 

"The  simplicity  and  genuine  human  nature  which   pervade 
every  page  will  charm  the  most  blaze  reader." 

— Boston  Transcript. 

LIFE'S  COMMON  WAT.  By  Annit  Eliot  TrumbulL  nmo. 
Cloth.  $1.50.  Third  edition. 

"An  uncommonly  well-written  book." — The  Churchman. 

"Full  of  delicate  humor  and  compelling  interest." 

—  The  Literary  World. 

"Enlarges   the   knowledge   of   women'i    motives   and   senti 
ment."  -The  Critic. 


THE    LOPE    STORT    OF    ABNER    STONE.      By    Edwin 
Carltle  Litsey.      8vo.     Deckle  Edge.      $1.50.     Third  edition. 

"As  sweet  and  tender  a  story  as  has  come  our  way  for  a  long 
time." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"The  charm  of  the  talc  is  its  fresh  feeling  for  nature,  its 
atmospheric  quality,  and  that  touch  of  idealism  which  gives  life 
unfailing  romance." — Hamilton  IV.  Mabie. 


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